Star Traks: Silverado - Season 4
by Lt. Silverado
Summary: Season 4 of ST: Silverado brings us yet more adventures of Captain Stafford, Dr Wowryk, Commander Jall and the still inept (but not as inept as before) crew of the reconditioned USS Silverado. Season 4 tests our crews patience to the limit after they're sent to defend a planet of people they really, really don't like...
1. Choices that Bite Back

Gene Rodenberry planted the seeds of Star Trek. They grew, blossomed, and have been claimed by Paramount and Viacom.  
Alan Decker planted the seeds of Star Traks. They've spread widely. One such sprout was Star Traks: Silverado. Whether it's a plant or a weed is still open to debate.

Copyright 2007

The following may contain content of a violent, profane or sexual nature. Sort of like real life and the evening news. If your country of origin prevents you from viewing such material, they're probably trying a little too hard to protect you from the world. Still, it's best to follow your local laws. So if they say you can't read this, you better not read it. And they suck for saying so. Otherwise, enjoy the story.

Star Traks: Silverado

4.1 "Choices That Bite Back"

"AH-HAHAHAHAAA! Bow before me, pathetic humans, and tremble at my wrath!"  
"No!" Yanick gasped, shrinking back in terror, "Please, no!"  
"I am the master of this domain!" Commander Jall laughed insanely, "You will all bow to me!"  
"Commander Jall!" Stafford shouted, striking a heroic pose, "Stand down!"  
Laughing, Jall unleashed a stream of energy from his fingertips, tapping into the ship's computer and taking complete control.  
"T'Parief, take him down!"  
T'Parief leapt over the tactical rail, claws outstretched, only to bounce off a forcefield that sprang up between him and Jall.  
Jall laughed maniacally.  
"That's it, Commander," Stafford roared, "YOU'RE FIRED!"

"Captain?"  
"Huh?" Stafford jerked in his chair, pulling his chin off his hand, "I was listening,"  
"No you weren't," Yanick said from the helm console, "You were, like, totally zoned out,"  
"Catatonic," Fifebee added from the science console.  
"Completely unaware of your surroundings," T'Parief joined in.  
"OK, OK," Stafford grumbled, "I was daydreaming. So sue me,"  
"We would," Jall said, "But since the Federation doesn't use money, you really don't own anything worth suing for,"  
"I own all your asses as long as I'm captain of this ship!" Stafford declared loudly.  
"Uh-huh," Jall said.  
"You keep telling yourself that," Yanick added.  
"Don't you have something…first officer-ish to do?" Stafford asked Jall.  
"Now that you mention it," Jall rose from his chair, "I have to tour Stellar Cartography in 10 minutes." He started walking towards the turbolift.  
"And don't forget to have those mission reports finished! Starfleet wants them by-"  
"They're on your ready room desk," Jall cut him off, stepping into the turbolift.  
"Well don't forget the consumables report from the Quartermaster-"  
"5 minutes and it's done!" Jall called as the doors closed, cutting off Stafford. Jall closed his eyes for a moment. Ahh, peace and quiet at last.  
"Deck 22," he requested. The turbolift hummed to life.  
"Stafford to Jall,"  
Sighing, Jall tapped his comm-badge.  
"Jall here,"  
"What about the promotions list? We're supposed to have it submitted tomorrow,"  
"It's on your desk," Jall snapped, "But we can't send it until you make up your mind on who's actually getting promoted!"  
Silence for a moment. Then:  
"I knew that. Stafford out."  
Jall shook his head as the turbolift arrived on Deck 22, the doors hissing smoothly open. As with all the even-numbered decks on the ship, the wall panels of Deck 22 were a soothing, creamy-tan colour. Jall quickly found his way to the Quartermaster depot. It was small and out-of-the-way, since replicators had largely made it redundant. Still, it was more energy-efficient to store common items for use rather than replicating them, where possible. Surprisingly enough, manipulating atomic bonds took a huge amount of energy.

T'Parief tapped idly at his panel, scanning space around Silverado for any sign of threats. So far he wasn't seeing very much. Silverado was inside Federation space, carrying a shipment of fragile Federation China from Starbase 45 to 3 new member planets. Not exactly a vital assignment, but still one that he would give his best effort to complete, especially considering that the strange planet of Deloria was very close to this region of space. Of course, he always gave his best effort. On everything. Whether that involved assaulting an enemy base, preparing a luxurious bubble-bath for Yanick or preparing training programs to help hone his unique security team into something resembling a cohesive fighting force, everything received the same effort.  
Naturally, the fact that his best effort had failed to win him the position of first officer wasn't bothering him in the slightest. No, not at all. Lieutenant, excuse me, COMMANDER Jall had previous experience, of course. And T'Parief knew perfectly well his actions in the televised competition for the role had done little to distinguish him. (Although his mother had commed to congratulate him on the very effective way he had reduced the holographic Vulcan to a pile of oozing holographic meat.)  
"Uh, Lt. Commander T'Parief? Sir?"  
T'Parief's head twisted around to glare ferociously at the intruder. Ensign Grant, a member of the Beta security team, looked timidly back at him.  
"Yes, Ensign?"  
"Uh, it's time for my bridge shift, sir," Grant said.  
Eyes narrowing as he regarded the solidly built yet timid-looking human, T'Parief considered. He'd assigned Grant to train with Crewman Kreklor, hoping to toughen the human up a bit. But Grant was still wearing that innocent puppy-dog expression. T'Parief found puppy-dogs to be very appetizing, but Grant would never be able to intimidate anybody looking like that.  
"Very well, Ensign," T'Parief said, relinquishing the panel, "I will be in the security office,"  
As the reptilian officer left, Grant looked down at the tactical rail. T'Parief had been stabbing the controls so hard that there were several punctures in the panel membrane. One display was so badly cracked the readouts were unintelligible. Even as the turbolift doors shut on T'Parief's retreating form, the console gave a half-hearted spark and went dead.  
"Grant to Engineering," Grant gulped.  
"Aye? What do ye want?"  
"Uh, I need a repair team on the bridge. The tactical panel is-"  
Grant winced as a stream of profanity emerged from the comm channel, cutting off abruptly as the line went dead.  
"That's the third time he's done that this week," Yanick observed from the helm console, "I think Simon's getting a bit sick of it,"  
"You don't say," Grant said, moving to the starboard auxiliary panel and quickly converting it to a tactical panel.  
"I even tried doing that thing he likes last night," Yanick went on, oblivious to the shocked looks she was getting from the other bridge officers, "With the oil and the spiked ball and everything,"  
"Trish," Stafford said, "I really don't want to know about your kinky sex life with the big lizard,"  
"Sex?" Yanick turned in her chair to look back at him, "I gave him a back rub!"  
"Oh," Stafford said quietly.  
"If you want to know about their sex life, I suggest you review Xujo Han'zon's Interspecies Karma Sutra," Fifebee commented dryly.  
"So, Mr. Johnson," Stafford said, trying to change the topic, "Drink any interesting teas lately?"  
Jerome Johnson, Silverado's new operations officer, sulked in his chair.  
"I really do wish you'd stop bringing that up," Johnson said in his crisp, British tones. Johnson had only been on Silverado for a few weeks, following a failed bid to replace the departed Commander Noonan as first officer. Tall, athletic and with skin the colour of milk chocolate, he'd been disqualified when the judges had learned that his incomprehensible street-talk was just a farce to hid his British background. He'd been foiled when Wowryk, Fifebee and Sylvia discovered fresh tealeaves in his cabin.  
The final decision on whether or not Johnson would be remaining on Silverado had not yet been made. However, since there was an open slot on the senior staff (and since Admiral Tunney didn't really want him back after that televised fiasco) Johnson had been temporarily assigned the position of operations officer.  
The turbolift doors hissed open again as a maintenance team led by Jeffery entered the bridge. Setting down their toolkits, they quickly began repairing the damaged tactical panel. Dr. Wowryk followed them out.  
"Captain," she said, nodding politely.  
"Hey Doc," Stafford gave a weak wave, not getting out of his chair.  
"I wanted to bring you the Starfleet Medical report on Pelgus 4," Wowryk said, taking Jall's now-empty seat. Her nose wrinkled briefly.  
"Something wrong?" Stafford asked, one eyebrow raised.  
"No," Wowryk said, shaking her head, "Jall just apparently has a more masculine body odor than one would have thought,"  
Now it was Stafford's nose's turn to wrinkle in disgust.  
"You were saying about medical reports?" he asked.  
"Yes," Wowryk pulled out a padd, "Pelgus 4 is a very cold planet, and as such…"  
As Wowryk explained the various health issues identified by the initial survey to Pelgus, including 4 new types of pneumonia and a parasite guaranteed to give your stomach lining a thorough cleaning, Yanick started aimlessly picking at her helm console. Next to her, at Ops, Johnson was sitting quietly, staring intently at his panel as he ran his fingers over the controls. Hmm. Apparently he was more interested in working than talking. Maybe she should talk to Ensign Grant? He looked sweet. No, wait. He was T'Parief's subordinate, and her big, green boyfriend was more than a bit territorial when it came to his woman. She was going to have to have a talk to him about that!

Down in one of the training rooms, just a short span of corridor away from the security office, T'Parief had just walked in on Crewman Kreklor and Ensign Marsden. The two of them were rolling around on the workout mat, curses and obscenities flying in all directions.  
"You spineless pitak!" Kreklor growled, trying to pull Marsden into a headlock, "This time your insults have gone too far!"  
Marsden twisted his tall, wiry frame away, managing to escape the bulkier Klingon just in time to fall on his ass as Kreklor shot one leg out in a sweeping kick.  
"I TOLD you," Mardsen shouted, "It was an ACCIDENT!"  
T'Parief briefly entertained the notion of intervening, but decided that it would be more entertaining to simply watch. After all, whoever lost the fight would need to explain to him just why they were unable to defeat their opponent.  
"Filthy human!" Kreklor spat, standing over Marsden, "You expect me to believe  
you-"  
"Ridge-headed brute!" Marsden shot back, jumping up from the mat and hitting Kreklor in the midsection with a head-butt. Kreklor's eyes bugged out as he stumbled back, falling to the mat and rolling to the side to avoid having Marsden land on him.  
"Yanick to T'Parief," chimed T'Parief's comm-badge.  
"Yes?" T'Parief replied quietly, hoping not to disturb the two combatants. They hadn't noticed him yet, and he hoped to keep it that way.  
"Y'know, I think you might be a bit too jealous. See, I wanted to say hi to Ensign Grant while he was on the bridge, but then I realized he works for you, and you get all jealous when I talk to other guys, so I didn't talk to him. But now I think-"  
Kreklor and Marsden froze, the latter bent over in front of the former, gripping him by the arm and preparing to flip him over his back and onto the floor. They both turned to look at T'Parief.  
"And it's really not fair to me to be scared to talk to people, you know, in a purely friends-type way, just because I think you're going to get all moody, like when your brothers ate your pet targ…"  
Kreklor and Marsden broke out laughing as T'Parief commenced grinding his teeth.  
"Ensign Yanick," T'Parief said, attempting to retain some shred of dignity, "May I call you back?"  
"Take care of your relationship issues on your own time!" this time it was Stafford's voice coming over the comm. There was a click, then the line went dead.  
A menacing rattle came from T'Parief's throat as he growled with displeasure.  
"Somebody isn't getting laid tonight!" Marsden laughed. Kreklor was bellowing loud, Klingon laughter and was unable to comment.  
T'Parief grabbed a nearby holocam, used during training session to allow security officers to see where they could improve their techniques. He clicked an image of the two, turned and left.  
"OOOhhhh!" Marsden laughed, letting go of Kreklor and heading towards the opposite door, this one leading toward the showers and locker room, "A scary picture! I think our brave leader is really getting whipped!"  
"He is owned," Kreklor agreed.

As Stafford reminded Ensign Yanick (yet again) to keep her personal life with T'Parief off the bridge, Ensign Grant called quietly out to Lieutenant Fifebee.  
"Lieutenant," he asked, "Could you give me a hand here for a moment?"  
"Certainly," Fifebee replied.  
"I can't get the console functions to properly change over to tactical," Grant said, "See?" he tapped a few buttons. The console configuration briefly changed, the wall display showing a detailed threat-analysis scan of the surrounding area. After a few seconds, the panel quickly reverted back to its former state, showing security footage from the security locker room.  
"Hmmm," Fifebee frowned, leaning over Grant to tap at the panel, her body brushing against his, "It appears somebody has been using this console to observe the males of the security team. Most likely Ensign Bithe, as I have noticed lately that her behavior has become more and more like that of Ensign Burke. I must speak to him about the influence he is having on her…" Fifebee trailed off.  
"Ensign Grant," Fifebee said, noticing that the security footage was showing Grant stepping out of the shower, "I had no idea you has such a pleasant…body…"  
"Um," Grant flushed, suddenly aware of just how close to him the holographic (but still attractive) female officer was.  
And she was looking at him in a very suggestive way.

Commander Jall walked down the corridors of Stellar Cartography. It was just a routine inspection, nothing major. He had to check with the department heads, get progress reports on the few projects being worked on (the ship was inside mapped space, what was there to do?) and make sure there were no major issues.  
"Commander Jall," Lieutenant Marconi, the Italian head of Stellar Cartography, smiled widely as Jall entered the main Stellar Cartography lab on Deck 7, "What can I do for you?"  
"Just doing my inspection rounds," Jall said, grinning. He'd almost forgotten how much fun the whole 'In-Charge' thing could be, "Report,"  
"Oh, was that today?" Marconi frowned, "I could have sworn that was tomorrow,"  
Jall looked at his padd.  
"Nope, today," he said.  
"Oh," Marconi blinked, "Uh, well, everything's fine down here,"  
"You've finished cataloguing the scans from our last survey mission?" Jall asked. He had been waiting for that report for the past two days.  
"Oh, uh, we'll be done that tomorrow," Marconi promised.  
"And the latest star charts from Starbase 45 have been updated into the navigational computers?" Jall pressed.  
"Tomorrow," Marconi repeated, "Hey, we're having a naked limbo contest in the crew lounge tonight, you in?"  
"Ohhh! Naked limbo?" Jall asked, "How did you get that OK'd? Stafford said-"  
"'No nudity in Unbalanced Equations'," Marconi finished for him, "We're using the crew lounge! I even got that sweet Ensign Bithe to come! She's got the hottest-"  
"Wait, wait," Jall said, shaking his head, "No, I can't."  
"C'mon!" Marconi pressed, "Ensign Roal will be there, and I hear he's…y'know. Into the kinda thing you-"  
"Lieutenant," Jall said, getting formal, "I have to set an example now! I'm first officer! I'm supposed to be giving you shit for not finishing those reports I need, not talking about naked limbo!"  
Marconi sighed.  
"Come on, San! You can't back out on us! The ship's party scene just won't be the same without you!"  
"Don't see why," Jall rolled his eyes, "You're all too straight to appreciate me!"  
"The girls love having you around," Marconi said seriously, "And girls and drinks are the two biggest requirements to a successful party!"  
"I'm supposed to be giving you shit now!" Jall repeated, "I need those cartography reports, ASAP, or I'm going to have to put you on report!"  
"Uh-huh," Marconi said, guiding Jall out of Stellar Cartography, "Tell you what, you come to the limbo thing tonight, and I'll have the reports ready for you by the time Nurse Kerry's leather bustier hits the floor! Besides, the Hazardous Team is going to be there, and I know how much you like Klingons."  
Jall found himself standing in the grey-paneled corridor as the door to Stellar Cartography hissed firmly shut behind him.  
"I SO am not into Klingons," Jall muttered, walking towards his next stop; Astrophysics.

Three departments (and three firm Naked Limbo invitations later) Jall returned to the bridge. Stafford wasn't in sight, probably doing some captain-type thing in his ready room. Or taking a nap. Rumors as to what captains actually did in there were rampant among the lower ranks. Not all of the suggestions were polite. Near the aft of the bridge, Lt. Commander Jeffery was just finishing up the repairs to the tactical console.  
"Hey Mr. Jeffery," Jall said, smiling, "How's it going?"  
"Just fine," Jeffery said politely, "Ye smug bastard," he added under his breath.  
"What was that?" Jall asked.  
"Nothing," Jeffery said, looking innocent.  
Sighing, Jall let the matter drop.  
No, no he didn't.  
"Mr. Jeffery, come with me," Jall said, gesturing towards the conference lounge.  
"Ah have to get back to Engineering," Jeffery said, "We're goin' to recalibrate the-"  
Jall felt something inside snap.  
"Mr. Jeffery," he said, the slightly sibilant tones of his voice overridden by sheer irritation, "You seem to think I'm asking you to come with me. I'm not. I'm ORDERING you to come with me! And can somebody explain why nobody is manning science or tactical!"  
"He likes to be in charge," Yanick whispered to Johnson as Jall led Jeffery to the lounge door.  
"Can it, Yanick!" Jall snapped, earning himself a surprised (then dirty) look from his former partner-in-crime. Jall promptly forgot about her as the doors to the conference lounge hissed open, revealing Grant and Fifebee. The two were halfway out of uniform, thrashing around on the lit table as they kissed passionately.  
Taking a moment to notice that Grant really did have a nice body, Jall allowed his inner rage to escape.  
"WHAT THE HELL?" he shouted, "FIFEBEE?" GRANT? SOMEBODY CARE TO EXPLAIN?"  
"Commander!" Grant squeaked, grabbing his shirt and holding it in front of his chest. Fifebee simply shimmered, holographic clothing reappearing.  
"Commander," Fifebee said, "I assure you, it is not what it looks like-"  
"Really? Jall asked, "Cuz it looked a lot like FOREPLAY to me!"  
"Well," Fifebee slowly admitted.  
"Stop!" Jall snapped, "Look, one thing at a time! Fifebee, Grant, man your stations! I'll deal with you when I'm done with..." Jall looked around. Jeffery was gone.  
"That little prick!" he seethed.  
Fifebee and Grant were still looking back at him.  
"You," Jall pointed at Fifebee, "Add this to your decision-making subroutines: Sex on Duty is a Bad Thing!"  
"I can cite 73 cases in the past 3 years in which you engaged in sexual activity of some form during your duty shift," Fifebee stated.  
"Yeah, but you should know better!" Jall said, inwardly wincing at the weakness of his reply. He turned to Grant.  
"You! One more incident like this, and I'll report it to your boss! And lizard-boy isn't as forgiving as I am! Now get back to work!"  
Fifebee and Grant quickly returned to their stations.  
Blood still pumping, Jall marched into Stafford's ready room.

"The Stallion is only going to be 4 hours away from us," Sylvia was saying, her holographic avatar standing next to Stafford, "Surely we can spare that amount of time,"  
"Maybe," Stafford said, looking at the flight plans Sylvia had highlighted on his terminal, "I wouldn't mind meeting some of these officers you and Jeffery told me so much about. But I'm going to need a more official reason than 'my ship's computer wants to see her boy-toy'!"  
"He's not my boy-toy!" Sylvia objected, "He's far older than I am! And we're not even officially 'together', or anything like that!"  
"Ship's computer…" Stafford muttered to himself as he pretended to fill out paperwork, "wants to see…cradle-robbing…boy-toy…"  
"Chris!" Sylvia slapped at him playfully, "Stop it!"  
The ready room doors hissed open and Jall stormed in.  
"Nobody is taking me seriously out there!" he complained.  
Stafford and Sylvia exchanged looks.  
"I win," Sylvia said.  
"Oh, I get it," Jall crossed his arms, "You put Fifebee and Grant up to this to see how long it would take me to crack?"  
"Nope," Stafford said, "Well, we didn't put anybody up to anything. We don't need to on this ship."  
"But we did have a bet going," Sylvia said.  
Jall's face started to turn red.  
"Sylvia, would you excuse us?" Stafford asked.  
With a nod, Sylvia shimmered, her holographic body vanishing.  
Stafford looked at Jall for a moment.  
"Welcome to my world," Stafford finally said.  
"I doubt you've ever had to deal with two officers making out in the conference lounge!" Jall said.  
"No," Stafford shrugged, "But I have dealt with a lot. Including an officer who, as I recall, guilted me into apologizing to him so he could get some extra vacation time, an officer who spent several days in the brig after turning a station cargo bay into a casino and starting a mass riot which resulted in the injury of the station's Administrative Officer. Oh, and an officer who turned my officer's lounge into a strip club." Stafford clasped his hands together on his desk, then looked innocently back at Jall. "Need I go on?"  
"Is this your subtle way of telling me you blame me for all this?" Jall asked, shaking one finger in Stafford's direction.  
"Nope," Stafford shrugged, "But it is my subtle way of telling you that I don't have a single ounce of pity for you. You wanted to be first officer? You've got it. Which means you get to deal with some of these petty issues."  
Stafford leaned forward over his desk.  
"And you've helped encourage people to behave like this. Senior officers set an example, you've set yours. I think the old saying is 'you reap what you sow,"  
Jall glared at him.  
"Dismissed," Stafford said, settling back into his chair and waving one hand imperiously.  
"Ohhh, it's SO on!" Jall said, turning and stepping back onto the bridge.

Yanick stepped off the turbolift on Deck 3, saying good night to Ensign Burke as the doors hissed shut. She could have been home in her quarters a good 45 minutes ago, however by the time she'd made a quick trip down to Deck 8 to visit Wowryk (who was working late), detoured to Deck 12 to check out the Gardening Club social in the arboretum, followed by a quick trip all the way down to Deck 36 to talk to poor, lonely Crewman Leghil…well, suffice it to say her social life was eating up more of her time that one might expect.  
By the time she finally did step through the door of her quarters, it was to find T'Parief sitting on her sofa, engaged in a staring contest with one of her potpourri lizards.  
"Y'know it's not real, right?" Yanick giggled, cocking her hip.  
"It is," T'Parief growled, "It is simply biding its time, waiting for a moment of weakness. Then it will strike."  
"Uh-huh," Yanick said slowly. She stepped over to the table on which the air-freshening lizard sat, picked it up and carried it to another, less visible corner. T'Parief's eyes followed it the entire way.  
"Oookay," Yanick said, finally hiding it behind a potted plant, "Somebody needs to get out a little more often,"  
"You should not have called me while we were on duty," T'Parief said.  
"Oh, don't be such a stiff," Yanick said, rolling her eyes.  
"It damaged the image I wish to present to my department," T'Parief grumbled.  
"Ohh, so it's your image," Yanick smiled, nodding knowingly, "As long as we're clear that what the Hazardous Team thinks of you is more important than talking to me, then-"  
"It is not like that!" T'Parief said sharply, "I always wish to speak with you. But sometimes we must wait until the right time,"  
"Is this about Starfleet protocol stuff?" Yanick asked, "Cuz with Jall in charge, I don't think we need to worry so much about that,"  
T'Parief didn't respond. Normally he would agree with Yanick, but he'd already heard about the little incident up on the bridge. He wasn't so sure Jall was going to be the laid-back second-in-command everybody was expecting.  
"I know just the thing we need!" Yanick said suddenly, grabbing a padd, "Yes! Everybody's going to Naked Limbo in the crew lounge tonight, so the holodecks should be free! Let's go!"  
"But what are we-" T'Parief's words were cut off as he was hauled out the door.

As it turned out, just because the holodecks were available, it did not mean they were empty.  
"You called?" Fifebee was reclining in a comfortable chair in the holodeck, a relaxing tropical resort program already running. Fido, her holographic pet head-crab, was wandering around the holographic scenery, chittering softly to itself. Sylvia was puttering around, worriedly making sure that edible snacks would be available to anybody who might want one. Yanick had asked Fifebee and Sylvia if she and T'Parief could meet them in Holodeck 2. Their ability to simply materialize in any space with holo-emitters meant they had beaten Yanick and T'Parief to the holodeck.  
"Yup, I did," Yanick said. T'Parief said nothing, simply allowing himself to be dragged in whatever direction Yanick desired, "We need to have a games night,"  
"Games?" Fifebee asked, intrigued, "What kind? The Dillion Enterprises Special Edition Monopoly Game? The Game of Alien Life? Or were you thinking something a bit more…risqué? Perhaps Strip Poker, or something involving various complex positions-"  
"Well," Yanick said, frowning, "I'm not totally sure. But T'Parief and I have to bond, and it should be the kind of bonding that doesn't need a lot of talking."  
"Do what normal couples do and copulate," Sylvia called from the buffet table currently under construction.  
Yanick and T'Parief exchanged glances.  
"Well," Yanick started to say.  
"It is time for a social evening," T'Parief said, cutting her off.  
Fifebee looked at the two of them for a moment.  
"Very well," she said, "Shall we start with Euchre?"

Jall sat in his quarters, staring at the wall. He was reasonably sure he couldn't out-stare it, seeing as how it didn't have the need to blink. Or eyes.  
Against his will, his gaze flicked over the chrono display on his living room vid-screen. 19:55 hours. The Naked Limbo contest would be starting up in 5 minutes. It was no big deal, really. A bunch of people would drink and get naked (no big deal in the 24th Century), somebody would make wise-cracks about the strategically placed ridges on some species, some of the females would worry they were too big around the middle and most of the males would worry they were too small in other places. Ensign Newtar from the Biophysics lab would role its eyes at the antics of species who reproduced via sexual reproduction. (Newtar's people reproduced via fission.) Sooner or later, people would start to disappear as attendees paired of and went for 'a coffee'. There was no reason why he would want to go at all. As Stafford said, it was unprofessional, it was silly, it was a waste of time and it wasn't the way a proper Starfleet officer behaved.  
Of course, in Jall's opinion, Stafford had forbidden the crew from holding Naked Limbo nights because he didn't want anybody to see the enormous stick wedged up his hindquarters. It was just a fun excuse to dance and party. The naked limbo part of the thing was just a way to make things different. Just like zero-G dancing, or wet T-Shirt contests, or water-gun fights. Of course, the draw of nubile female flesh meant a large turnout to the party, which meant more eye candy, which meant more attendees, which mean even MORE eye candy, which meant-  
"OK, stop it," Jall muttered to himself, getting up to pace, "I just need something to do to keep my mind off of things."  
Hmm. Who did he know, or hang around with on the ship, that wouldn't be going to the party?  
Stafford immediately came to mind. But he was about the last person Jall wanted to spend the evening with. Ditto for Wowryk.  
Yanick? No, she'd totally be into Naked Limbo. Jall considered. But T'Parief wouldn't be. Would it be worth dealing with the moody security chief in order to spend time with his bestest blond buddy?  
"Jall to Yanick," he called, tapping his comm-badge.  
"Uh, Yanick here," Yanick's voice was rushed, "No, T'Parief, if you called the deal then you have to play this round by yourself, I can't-"  
"Whatcha up to?" Jall asked, confused.  
"Um, teaching T'Parief to play Euchre," Yanick replied, "No, you can't play that card, Spades were the first card played this round. Yes, I know you broke suit before, but that's because…no, I meant you played a different kind of card, it has nothing to do with ripping your pants! You can only do that if you're out of Spades! Oh, you are out of Spades. Ooops, I guess you didn't really want to give that away, did you? But that's OK, if you break suit, the other plays know you're really out of Spades, unless you're lying, in which case we'll find out anyway."  
"Do you need another player?" Jall asked.  
"Um, no," Yanick said, "We have 4…no, T'Parief, Sylvia wins this one. She played a Bower. Uh, the card with the 'J' on it. Yes, I know Bower starts with a 'B', that's not what I-"  
The channel was suddenly overwhelmed with a loud roar, followed by the sound of something breaking.  
"Uh, I gotta go," Yanick said, "T'Parief is, um, eating the table…Yanick out!"  
The line went dead.  
Jall looked at the chrono. It was now past 20:00 hours. Steven would be in the crew lounge, leaving Unbalanced Equations with a minimal staff. Stafford and Wowryk would probably be dropping by for a quick drink, and would wonder why the officer's lounge was so empty before going their separate ways. Marconi, Simmons and Bithe would probably be setting up drink and snack tables while somebody (probably Crewman Gibson) distracted the engineering staff long enough for somebody else (probably Crewman Shwaluk) to snatch the iso-flux dispersion array that worked so well as a limbo stick. Knowing Crewman Shwaluk, he'd forget to disengage the dispersal matrix first and would end up with a nasty shock and a dose of (mostly) harmless flux radiation that would scramble his higher brain functions for about an hour. Jall doubted anybody would notice.  
OK. How to spend his evening.  
Jall called up an Interactive Movie on his display. The concept was old, having first appeared in the late 20th Century, when computer technology was just getting going. He watched a brief video clip, introducing his character and the story, then found his vid-screen displaying his virtual self standing on a virtual street. He was a private detective in the first quarter of the 21st Century and he was looking for a missing scientist. If he'd really wanted to get into the game he could, of course, go down to one of the holodecks. But sometimes there's nothing like curling up on one's own sofa in one's own home.  
Jall started issuing orders to his virtual self.  
"Take a closer look at that building there," Jall said, pointing.  
Obediently, his avatar walked closer to the indicated building. His avatar began speaking.  
"The Ritz Hotel had definitely gone downhill the past few years. But as long as I pay my rent, Nilo doesn't give me any grief. It's a good thing this case came along, cuz I'm about 3 months behind. I'll have to find the money before I can get any information out of Nilo,"  
Hmm. Money. Wait, he'd been given a cheque to start his investigation-  
"Stern to Jall,"  
Jall bit his lip. Ignore it. He'll go away. He ordered his avatar to pay the landlord the rent money.  
"Simmons to Jall. Commander, we need you down here! We have all this synthohol and not enough people to drink it!"  
Ignore it. Ask the landlord if he'd seen anything suspicious lately.  
"Roal to Jall. Uh, guys, what was I supposed to say? Oh yeah. Um, Commander, I, um, was hoping we could…um, talk, and maybe get to know each other better…" somebody else's voice came over the channel, sounding suspiciously like Ensign Bithe, "No, don't say that, he'll think you want a serious date or something!"  
"Uh, nevermind…Roal out!"  
Jall breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to deal with was an insecure amateur trying to 'get to know him'.  
"Marconi to Jall,"  
"WHAT?" Jall finally snapped, guiding his avatar to look for clues in the missing scientist's former hotel room.  
"Are you coming or not? The girls want you teach them how to do that dancing thing. Y'know, that Indian belly-dancer hip thing?"  
"I'm not coming, Marconi!" Jall said angrily, "Jall out!"

"Well, I guess card games are out," Sylvia said, eyebrows raised as she surveyed the remains of the table.  
T'Parief was sitting in the middle of the wreckage, looking like a child that had just finished a temper tantrum. Pieces of wood stuck out of his mouth, moving as he continued chewing.  
"I've seen him break furniture before," Yanick said, sounding worried, "but this is the first time he's tried to eat it,"  
"The rules of Euchre can be quite complex and frustrating for beginners," Fifebee said, "Incidentally, Lt. Cmdr, you may wish to drop by sickbay to have your stomach beamed. I doubt you would enjoy trying to excrete splintered wood in the traditional manner,"  
"It's holographic," Sylvia waved one hand, "I'll be sure it doesn't make it out of the holodeck,"  
Swallowing the mouthful of table, T'Parief regained his footing.  
"Perhaps a less complex game?" he suggested calmly.  
"Aren't either of you going to eat something other than the furniture?" Sylvia said, moving back to the buffet, "I went to all this trouble!"  
"Uh, I guess," Yanick said hesitantly.  
"I'm full," T'Parief said.  
Sylvia's holographic avatar fluttered slightly as she focused her attention on the holographic control system. There was a slight humming sound from T'Parief's mid-section as the holographic table chunks dissipated.  
"I am now hungry," T'Parief said flatly.  
"OK, good," Yanick said happily, "Cuz if you're hungry, and I'm hungry, and there's food, then we all get to eat!"  
"Unfortunately, you no longer have a table," Fifebee pointed out. Sylvia elbowed her in the side, then quickly commanded the holodeck to generate a suitable replacement table.  
What was that for? Fifebee silently asked Sylvia, using the data links between her program and the ship's computer core instead of audible speech. She didn't like to communicate this way…she'd been programmed to behave like a human in most respects, and communing directly with computers wasn't a very human activity. On the other hand, part of her found the speed of communication to be somewhat refreshing.  
Don't make things difficult for them, Sylvia said, They've got enough challenges in their relationship to overcome, without us reminding them,  
What do you mean? Fifebee frowned, They are behaving in a way that indicates they are a couple. Well, most human couples don't include a partner who consumes furniture, but that point aside-  
Fifebee, open your visual subroutines! Sylvia chided her, He's a bloodthirsty reptile, she's a lovable farm girl. How those two paired up at all is really beyond my understanding…by which I mean it's beyond the computational understanding of this entire ship! Things had seemed to working out for the two of them before, but look at what's happened now!  
The exchange had taken milliseconds. Yanick and T'Parief had barely started moving towards the buffet table. As Sylvia and Fifebee observed, they started filling plates.  
I see no problem, Fifebee stated.  
When is the last time there was physical contact between the two of them? Sylvia asked.  
Fifebee analyzed her memory.  
1.2 hours ago, when they arrived in the holodeck. she replied, Yanick was dragging him by the arm,  
Exactly! Sylvia said, In all that time, and who knows how long before that, there hasn't been a kiss, a hug, not even a close gesture! They're growing apart…or even worse, they're getting bored with each other! Why else do you think Yanick is almost killing herself to find something for them to do tonight?  
Why do they not have sex? Fifebee asked, I have noticed that organic beings enjoy that quite a bit. Sometimes with a variety of partners, including various body types, personality types and even genders. I was eager to attempt the process today with Ensign Grant, however I was interrupted.  
You need to learn about timing, honey, Sylvia said dryly, But you get points for nerve. I wish it had been Chris that had walked in instead of San,  
But back to the original question, Fifebee mused, Why do Yanick and T'Parief not simply get it on?  
Sylvia was quiet for a moment. (A computerized moment, about 5 milliseconds.)  
Two possibilies, she said, Either they have copulated so many times it has grown tiresome…  
Or?  
Or, Sylvia suggested, They still haven't figured out how to do it yet,

Jall was slowly making progress through his Interactive Movie. His main character, a Mr. Tex Murphy, had managed to track down the missing scientist's wife, who for some reason was working as a dancer at a club called the Fuchsia Flamingo. Dedicated as he was to his…preferences, Jall found more entertainment in judging the woman's slightly tacky wardrobe than in watching her lithe body move through the dance routine.  
"Johnson to Jall," chimed the comm.  
"I said NO!" Jall snapped, letting his head drop back against the couch.  
"Um, Commander," Johnson's voice sounded slightly worried, "I just wanted you to know that I found a slight imbalance in one of the Deck 11 power conduits. We would like to take the EPS grid-"  
"You found?" Jall asked, pausing his movie, "Aren't you off duty?"  
"Quite right," Johnson sighed, "What I meant to say is that Ensign Day noticed some power fluctuations on Deck 11 and called me. With my assistance, he was able to isolate the problem conduit. However, we will need to drop out of warp momentarily, just to be on the safe side you understand, and we require your authorization."  
"Oh," Jall shrugged, despite the fact that nobody was there to see him, "Why didn't you just say so?"  
There was a pause, likely as Johnson ground his teeth in annoyance.  
"I attempted to do just that, sir,"  
"Right, right," Jall said, getting up, "Well, I need a distraction. Let's go check it out.  
"Righty-oh,"

"Did you feel that?" T'Parief asked.  
"We've dropped out of warp," Sylvia said, "Minor maintenance, nothing major. It's your turn,"  
T'Parief growled softly as he activated the random-number generator they were using for their game.  
"3," Yanick said excitedly, "That means you land on a payday!"  
"Yes," T'Parief said, not sounding very excited, "If only I had a better job than 'asteroid waste relocation engineer', perhaps I could become excited about it," his brow furrowed as he regarded the board, "I do not have enough funds to continue caring for all 4 of my spawn." He looked thoughtfully at Fifebee, "Do the rules of this game permit me to consume any of them?"  
Yanick smacked him upside the head before Fifebee could answer.  
"It's the 'Game of Alien LIFE', silly!" she said, "Not the 'Game of Funky Baby-Eating Aliens!"  
"I love it," Sylvia cut in. Her piece had more 'children' in it than any other, "I can have all the kids I want, and they never talk back!"  
T'Parief said nothing.  
Are you sure this was a good idea? Fifebee silently asked Sylvia, Given the difference in physiology, it would be very difficult for these two to conceive a child. We could be adding to their relationship stress,  
If T'Parief's parents can do it, then it's perfectly possible for them to conceive, Sylvia replied, And they know it. I'll have you know I'm observing them carefully. I want to try to determine exactly what the cause of their unhappiness is,  
"Ohhh," Yanick said, "I landed on the 'Business Trip' square. That means I have to separate from my mate for two turns, but I get more money!"  
"More money for your spawn to consume in educational expenses," T'Parief pointed out.  
"Yeah, sort of a pain," Yanick shrugged, "At least it doesn't work that way in real life, huh?"  
"Yes, very much so," T'Parief replied.  
OK, they're still calm. I think we can safely rule out kids as a problem, Sylvia said, Here, let me try something in a minute.  
Fifebee and Sylvia took their turns, Fifebee landing on a Payday square and Sylvia obtaining yet another child.  
Finally, it was T'Parief's turn again. He tapped the number generator, getting a 5  
Distract them for a moment! Sylvia sent.  
Fifebee blinked.  
"Um, is that Captain Stafford urinating behind those bushes?" she said calmly.  
T'Parief jumped to his feet, Yanick's simply looked in the indicated direction.  
"Why would he be here?" she asked.  
"Nevermind," Fifebee said, "I was mistaken,"  
When the two organic members of the group had looked away, Sylvia had quickly tapped into the holodeck subroutines. A square 5 moves away from T'Parief's piece which had previously read 'You Get a Raise!' had changed to 'Have Sex With Your Partner'.  
Sylvia and Fifebee watched very carefully as T'Parief moved his piece, then read out the instructions on the square.  
"Have Sex With Your Partner," T'Parief read aloud, almost mumbling as he realized what he was saying. Both he and Yanick suddenly looked very, very uncomfortable.  
Bingo! Sylvia said.

Jall yawned as he stepped out of the turbolift on Deck 11. Turning a corner, he walked down the corridor until he located the maintenance panel Johnson had been talking about. Then it was merely a matter of waiting for five minutes until the other officer showed up. Two minutes into the wait, there was a soft sound, along with a slight sensation of motion. The ship had dropped out of warp.  
Jall tapped one toe against the carpeted deck. Was this why Stafford always got so annoyed when he showed up late for staff meetings?  
"Evening, Commander," Johnson said, tipping an imaginary hat in a not-so-subtle bit of mockery. The fact that Johnson had been sent to the ship as a candidate for Jall's current job was common knowledge, and a bit of bad blood was to be expected.  
"Hi," Jall said, "Let's get this over with quickly."  
"As you wish," Johnson inclined his head.  
The two officers quickly peeled off the outer cover of the conduit. The problem was immediately apparent. Somebody had spliced a small energy tap onto the main conduit. The effect was minimal, when the tap wasn't drawing energy. But even a tap that size, coming off a major power conduit? Somebody was planning something that would take a lot of juice. But who? And for what?  
Jall looked down, realizing which room just happened to be one deck below him.  
"Damn!" he swore, turning away and running for the turbolift.  
Johnson remained standing by the exposed conduit.  
"Right then," he said, "I'll just unhook this then. Cheerio!"

Jall rode the turbolift down to Deck 12. The layout was almost identical to Deck 11, just slightly larger, as Deck 12 was the single largest deck on the ship. Turning, he quickly strode to the crew lounge, just down the corridor from Unbalanced Equations.  
"JALL!" close to a hundred crewmen called out happily.  
The crew lounge was about the same size as Unbalanced Equations. As the name implied, it was the prime hangout for enlisted crewmembers and civilian workers on the ship. Regular crew far outnumber officers on any Starfleet ship, and while Unbalanced Equations was large and spacious for the number of officers likely to be in there at any given time, the crew lounge always felt cramped. Unbalanced Equations had an atmosphere that was somewhere between coffee house and pub, with occasional dancing. The crew lounge was more like a packed nightclub, complete with blaring music and stumbling crewmen who generally didn't have to worry about how frequent intoxication might look on their annual performance evaluations. Well, OK, most officers on Silverado didn't really care either, but at least visitors to the crew lounge didn't have to worry about having the captain show up almost every evening.  
Some ships were very strict, ensuring that only officers went into the officer's lounge and crewmembers went into the crew lounge. Some weren't. Such matters usually depended on the opinion of the ship's captain, the general attitude of the crew, the number of fistfights involving crew vs. officers and whether or not Guiananco had a strangle-hold on the ship's entertainment facilities. On Silverado, Stafford and Steven had been fairly lax, letting people unwind wherever they wanted. That wasn't to say things were a free-for-all. Stafford insisted on a more 'dignified' atmosphere in Unbalanced Equations (he didn't always get it, however). The crew lounge was where one went if one didn't want to make even a token effort to behave. Hence, it had recently started being known as 'The RoughHouse'.  
It was no surprise then, that Jall was well-known to the crewmembers that frequented the crew lounge.  
The RoughHouse was packed! Dozens of crewmen and crewwomen, along with one or two officers, were already dancing to music being pumped from an impressive looking setup. The lights were low, further emphasizing the night-club atmosphere. In the middle of the room, the limbo stick had been setup. Several attendees were already in various stages of undress, although nobody was naked. Yet.  
"Commander!" Lieutenant Marconi stepped up, "Glad you could make it!" Marconi was walking arm in arm with two women, one an Andorian xeno-biologist, the other a human technician. The three of them were clad in their underwear, lacey, skimpy numbers on the woman and a pair of boxer-briefs on Marconi. Jall suddenly found himself surrounded by party-goers of both genders, and a few hands were already wandering into inappropriate places.  
"Did you see this pic of Kreklor and Marsden that's been going around?" somebody else said, flashing a padd in his face with an image of Kreklor bent over in front of Marsden, "The whole crew is talking about it!"  
"Looks like nothing more than a security training session to me, and I'm not here to party," Jall said, removing the padd from his face and Ensign Bithe's hand from his butt. Bithe just grinned, then turned her attention back to her date, "Somebody has a splice running into the power conduit above this room, and I have a pretty good idea who,"  
"Oh yeah," Marconi nodded as several dancing crewfolk formed a conga line and started parading around the room, "Crewman Shwaluk needed extra power for his 'Galactic Neutrino-Blasting Sub-Woofer',"  
"Nice!" Jall grinned, "What's the wattage on that baby…I mean, where the hell is he? You can't put an unauthorized tap into the EPS grid for a sound system! Does he want to blow out half of our power conduits?"  
"Hey, lighten up, man," Marconi said, "We unhook it tomorrow, Stafford and Jeffery will never know!"  
"Stafford and Jeffery, huh?" Jall shot back, " And what about me? I AM the first officer, remember?"  
"Yeah, but you're cool," Marconi shrugged, "Come on, have a drink while you're here,"  
"I can't-" Jall started.  
"Hey, I found the problem with my sub," Shwaluk said, dancing up to the two of them, "Some idiot found my splice and unhooked it. I'll have it fixed in a jiff. Hey, Commander, aren't you a little overdressed?" Shwaluk was shirtless, as was the woman he was dancing with.  
Shwaluk pulled a device out of his pocket and pressed it to Jall's tunic. Jall suddenly found himself slightly cold as his uniform jacket and undershirt disintegrated.  
"Cool trick, huh?" Shwaluk called, pocketing the device as he and his date danced back towards the Galactic Neutrino-Blasting Sub-Woofer, "Perfect for this kind of party!"  
"Hey, Commander," Stern called, "I talked some of the Beta-team folks into serving drinks tonight! Check it out!" Jall noticed several security team members, male and female, all with fantastically toned bodies, wandering around in skimpy underwear serving drinks.  
"Want a drink, Commander?" Ensign Roal asked, stumbling slightly as he approached Jall, then through an arm over his shoulder, "I've had several, hee-hee. Hey, did I ever mention how good you looked in that-"  
"EVERYBODY STOP!" Jall shouted, vision turning red as the blood rushed to his head. He stormed over to the music control panel and slammed the cut-off button.  
"THAT'S IT!" Jall shouted, "What is with you people? How many times do have to tell you, I can't do this anymore! I'm first officer now! I've got responsibilities, and expectations! I can't act like…like…a drunken, sex-starved maniac whenever I feel like it anymore! The captain's set some rules about how far we can go with this kind of stuff, and you've all gone way over that line!"  
"So what?" Somebody in the crowd called, "It's not like you haven't done the same thing a million times!"  
There was a chorus of agreement.  
"That's when I was…" Jall trailed off. How could he explain this? He had been angry at his demotion, a demotion that had been completely without just cause? He'd wanted to strike back at the authority that had, in his mind, discriminated against him? That he just really didn't like Stafford all that much and didn't mind being a thorn in the man's side?  
"You were a heck of a lot more fun is what you were," somebody grumbled loudly. There was another chorus of agreement.  
"Look," Jall said, "It's not that you're not all fun. I know you're all just having a great time. But if I'm going to be first officer here, I have to act like it. And that means I have to set an example!"  
"Like getting the captain drunk at Noonan's good-bye party?" Marconi asked.  
"Using T'Parief's body to slut around after the Matrian thingy?" Bithe added.  
"Starting a riot at Deneria?" chimed in somebody else.  
"Great track record you've got there, Commander," Stafford's voice was sharp, overriding the general muttering in the room.  
Jall spun around to find the captain standing in the door leading to the corridor. At the sight of him, various crewmembers suddenly started looking for uniforms or other items of clothing that had been discarded. Stafford walked slowly towards the music stand, trying hard not to stare at some of the shirtless women, most of whom happened to have stunningly perfect breasts.  
"What exactly is going on in here?" Stafford asked, stopping in front of the music equipment to look around the room.  
There was quiet mumbling.  
"Naked Limbo party, sir," Jall said.  
"I see," Stafford said, "Something I'm pretty sure I don't allow on my ship. And you just happened to drop by, half naked?"  
"Actually-" Jall started.  
"Commander, I don't need to hear it," Stafford said, turning his attention away from his first officer, "Come on people, what's the deal? Why on Earth would you want to do something like this anyway? Isn't it enough to dance and drink? Why do you have to get naked at the same time?"  
"Uh Captain," Jall tried to get Stafford's attention, "You shouldn't stand-"  
"Quiet!" Stafford snapped, then turned back to the crowd, "Well?"  
"I believe I can explain, sir," Marconi said. When he saw he had Stafford's attention, he pointed at Ensign Bithe's ample bosom. Bithe blushed, holding her hands over her…um…don't make me say it. The parts that aren't supposed to show, and if they do show, it's called a 'wardrobe malfunction'.  
"Marconi, you're on report. Fraternization, harassment, whatever. I don't want to hear you talking about another officer like that!" Stafford threw his hands up in frustration, "Look, I know you all just want to have a good time, but there are still a few, minimal standards we have to uphold! We're representing the Federation here! What would a new alien culture say if their first glimpse of our culture was a pack of naked, sweaty, drunken, giggling dolts trying to walk under a stick?"  
"They'd probably say 'Where do we sign up?'" Marconi cracked. Several crewmen started chuckling.  
Stafford took a step towards Marconi, his face beet read, his mouth opening and closing in fits and starts as he tried to speak. Stafford didn't realize it, but Jall noticed he was standing right in front of the speaker system. Jall also noticed that as soon as Stafford's mouth had started flapping, everybody in the room had turned to look at him.  
"Oh right," Jall frowned. Noonan had always translated for Stafford when the captain became too agitated for normal speech. What would Stafford likely be trying to say? His eyes were drawn back to Ensign Bithe  
"Um, 'Nice tits?" Jall translated.  
Stafford spun back to Jall and angrily raised one fist.  
"The early bird gets the worm?" Jall tried again.  
Stafford extended his middle finger.  
"Oh! Don't be a f**king prick, Marconi!" Jall said, sure he had it this time. Stafford nodded.  
"Look," Stafford said, having regained his speech, "Limits are important. First, it's Naked Limbo. Next thing you know, you're-"  
"Captain," Jall tried again to warn Stafford, "You really shouldn't stand there!"  
"Not now, Jall!" Stafford said, "Look, first it's Naked Limbo, then Naked Dancing, then Naked…other things. And do you really want other cultures to think we're a culture of-"  
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!  
The Galactic Neutrino-Blasting Sub-Woofer suddenly fired at full power, sending the Captain and anything else in its path flying across the room at full speed. The crowd rushed to cover ears, antennae and other auditory sense-organs as glasses and bottles toppled to the floor and shattered.  
"Fixed it!" Crewman Shwaluk said triumphantly as he emerged from under the music panel. He surveyed the now-devastated lounge, including the wall against which Stafford was now slumped, unconscious and with blood trickling from his ears.  
"Oops,"

In the holodeck, everybody looked up as a deep rumble shook the room.  
"What was that?" T'Parief asked, jumping to his feet.  
"Nothing to worry about, dear," Sylvia said, "Chris is just going to be very angry when he wakes up."  
They'd given up on The Game of Alien Life. After the sex square, Yanick and T'Parief just hadn't been into the game, further proving Sylvia's belief that they were having 'couple's troubles'.  
"There has to be something the two of you would enjoy doing together," Fifebee was saying. "You have been dating for 2.5 Standard years. Obviously common interests exist,"  
"I typically enjoy games that involve violence, blood, gore and edible opponents," T'Parief said, "These 'bored games' are new to me,"  
"I don't like eating people," Yanick said, "And it's 'board',"  
"You say Kronos, I say Quo'nos," T'Parief muttered.  
"I suspect that Trivial Pursuit would be a bad idea," Fifebee said, "As Sylvia and I have instant access to all trivia in the computer banks,"  
"That game takes too much thinking anyway," Yanick said.  
"What about a more physical game?" Sylvia suggested.  
"I do not play sports," T'Parief said, "There are often…accidents." He extended his claws in demonstration.  
"Oh! Oh!" Yanick suddenly jumped up, "I've got it!"  
"Got what, dear?" Sylvia asked.  
Yanick called for the holodeck control arch, then spent several moments tapping away at the panel.  
"If this involves petting fluffy bunnies, I am going home," T'Parief said flatly.

Stafford sat in Sickbay.  
He was awake again, and shortly after regaining consciousness he had been relocated from his bio-bed to one of the more comfortable chairs in the treatment area. It was fairly easy for Jall to track him down.  
"Hey," Jall said, taking the seat next to Stafford, "How's it going?"  
Stafford said nothing.  
"Look, I know it looked bad in there," Jall said, "But whether you believe me or not, I really wasn't in there to party. Ask Johnson. There was this thing with a power conduit, and I went to check, and…"  
Stafford was still sitting in the chair, staring straight ahead.  
"OK, you know what? If you don't believe me, tough!" Jall snapped, "You picked me as your first officer, and that means that somewhere in there, you know I'm the man for the job! If you don't like the way I spend my off-duty time, that's your tough luck. Now, I know those guys were defying your orders. Sort of. I mean, you said no nudity in Unbalanced Equations, nothing about the crew lounge. I know what you meant, but it still wouldn't hold up in a court martial."  
Stafford remained silent.  
"But I mean, come on. If it doesn't interfere with their duties, who cares what the crew does on their off hours? It's not like they were doing anything illegal, right?"  
More silence.  
"Maybe you need to think more about why you're trying to impose rules like that," Jall said, becoming frustrated, "I mean, it doesn't affect you, right? I think it's because you just don't understand why somebody could enjoy things that you don't. I mean, you've made it clear you don't understand my sex life. Just one more example! Who knows? If you gave it a try, you might see why I like it!"  
Stafford leaned back in his chair, but still didn't look at Jall or answer.  
Jall got to his feet.  
"Ok, so you don't want to talk. Fine. But at least try to understand that different people have different ways of having fun, and just because you can't understand why they like something is no reason to put it down!"  
With that, Jall strode out of Sickbay, narrowly missing Wowryk and Kerry as they walked from the med-lab area towards Stafford.  
"OK, Captain," Wowryk said, sounding cheerful, "I'm finished! You've got your choice of-"  
"He can't hear you Doc," Nurse Kerry reminded Wowryk, "He's deaf, remember?"  
"Oh, right," Wowryk stepped in front of Stafford. The captain started slightly, then looked at Wowryk.  
"You've got your choice of inner-ear implants," Wowryk held up a pair of small devices in one hand, "These organic replacement inner-ears that I just finished cloning from that mole I removed from your back," she held up a small container in her other hand, in which two pieces of pink tissue floated, "Or, we could leave you this way, confident that this is the work of God and that his Divine Plan calls for you to spend your live cut-off from your fellow man," she smiled broadly.  
"I may be deaf, Doctor," Stafford said in the overly loud 'I-can't-hear-you-therefore-you-must-be-having-tro uble-hearing-me' voice inevitable used by people with temporary hearing loss, "But still have a pretty good idea of what you just said. Put me back the way I was before this mess!"  
"His lip reading is getting good," Kerry smirked.

"Harder, T'Parief!" Yanick shouted, "Faster!"  
"I am going as fast as I can," T'Parief panted, broomstick pistoning.  
"FASTER!" Yanick screamed.  
T'Parief redoubled his efforts.  
"YES!" Yanick shouted, jumping up and down as her rock slammed into one of Fifebee's, knocking it out of the house.  
"Crap!" Fifebee cursed, "I had calculated the trajectory and velocity of that rock perfectly!"  
Curling was technically supposed to be played with teams of 4 players each, but rather than include holographic players, Yanick and company had managed with two. The winter sport was centuries old, yet hadn't really changed. Teams took turns sliding heavy 'rocks' across a sheet of ice, trying to end the round with the rock closest to the center of the target or 'house'. Some people might not recognize the word 'curling', but almost everybody recognizes 'shuffleboard', which was a table-top version of curling.  
"Good work, Pari!" Yanick giggled, unaware that it was the first time in days that she'd used the familiar nickname.  
T'Parief grinned, baring his teeth as he and Yanick shared a congratulatory high-five.  
"My turn," Sylvia said. She pulled one of the squat, circular rocks from the side, sliding it across the ice to the foothold. She squatted down, took aim, then pushed, sending the rock sliding down the ice towards the house, where the target lay. Fifebee didn't even need to sweep the rock as it glided towards Yanick's rock.  
"I am curious," Fifebee said to Yanick, "How did you decide that curling would be a good sport for you and T'Parief.  
"Well," Yanick shrugged, "Nobody gets hurt, which makes me happy, the rules are pretty easy, which makes T'Parief happy, and we get to smash stuff, which makes both of us happy,"  
"Interesting," Fifebee said thoughtfully as Sylvia's rock crashed into Yanick's with a resounding 'CRACK!', "So violent activity helps alleviate sexual tension?"  
"Hmmm?" Yanick asked, looked back at Fifebee, expression best described as 'confused blond'.  
"Nothing," Fifebee said innocently.  
Interesting as this is, Fifebee sent to Sylvia, You do realize this isn't going to fix their problem.  
I suppose not, Sylvia replied, But it gives them something to work with. And I think they're going to need it down the road,

"Testing, testing, one, two, three," Kerry said, standing to Stafford's left.  
"Yup. Sounds fine," Stafford said.  
"Testing, testing, one, two, three, Wowryk said, standing to his right.  
"Hmmm," Stafford frowned, "Still sounds sort of…bitchy. Any chance you can fix that?"  
Wowryk smacked him upside the head.  
"Nevermind," Stafford grunted, sticking a finger in his right ear, "That fixed it,"  
"Don't stick your finger there!" Wowryk snapped, slapping his hand away.  
"Right, right," Stafford sighed, "Got it,"  
"So, what do you plan to do about this little…incident," Wowryk asked.  
"Well, Marconi is going on report," Stafford said, "And Shwaluk is going to be spending at least two days repairing and cleaning up the crew lounge."  
"What about the rest of them?" Wowryk asked, "I mean, they were engaged in a sinful display of the body, which probably would have turned into a drunken orgy before midnight!"  
Stafford looked sideways at her.  
"Really?" he asked, then shook his head "Yuck!"  
"Well, the sins of the crew can of course be forgiven through confession and penance," Wowryk shrugged, "The ringleaders of this little event however will need stronger punishment!"  
In the background, Kerry started rubbing her head. Working with Wowryk really did give her more than her share of headaches.  
"Marconi is already going on report," Stafford said, "That's enough,"  
"What about Jall?" Wowryk asked.  
"I still have to deal with him," Stafford sighed, "Am I done here?"  
"Considering you can hear me, yes," Wowryk nodded, "Which is good. I still have an hour of prayers to get through before bed,"  
"But it's almost midnight!" Stafford exclaimed.  
Wowryk stared blankly back at him.  
"Right. Going now," Stafford rolled his eyes.

Jall sat in his quarters. He'd progressed quite well into his virtual game, his character was in the middle of exploring the abandoned Area 51 complex in Roswell. A completely fictional version of Area 51, but it was still entertaining.  
Be-DEEP! His door was chiming. Why was his door chiming?  
"It's past midnight!" Jall called, not getting up off the couch, "Unless you're hot and about to get naked, go away!"  
Be-DEEP!  
"Well, maybe this night isn't a total loss after all," Jall muttered, pulling himself up off his couch. He walked over to the door and tapped the 'Open' panel. The doors hissed open, revealing Stafford.  
"I was wrong," Jall groaned.  
"Having a good night?" Stafford asked, stepping in.  
"Please, come in, make yourself at home," Jall said, with just a hint of sarcasm.  
"You know, I don't think I've ever taken a look at this place," Stafford said, clearly trying to be conversational, "Any other time I've dropped by, you've been doing something so disturbing-"  
"To you, maybe," Jall interrupted.  
"Right," Stafford said. He noticed a poster on one wall. The poster showed a muscular Federation Marine, sans shirt and holding a large phaser rifle in one hand, "It's becoming clearer and clearer that there are a lot of things you enjoy that I find really…really…disturbing."  
"Which is your problem," Jall said, crossing his arms, "not mine,"  
"You're right," Stafford admitted. He walked slowly past the windows, gazing out at the stars.  
"How long did it take Sylvia to convince you of that?" Jall grunted.  
"I haven't talked to Sylvia about this, Jall," Stafford said, turning back to Jall, "Believe it or not, I wasn't just made a captain because of my good looks,"  
"I guess not," Jall agreed.  
Stafford started, then rolled his eyes.  
"Look, Jall, I'm not here to put you down!" Stafford said, "I'm here to try to…to…God, I don't even know what!" Stafford rubbed his forehead with one hand, pacing the room, "Jall…San. I want us to be able to work together. Without killing each other!"  
"Didn't sound like it earlier!" Jall said, "What were your words? 'You reap what you sew'? And what does tailoring have to do with reaping, anyway?"  
Stafford was quiet for a moment. He stood next to a shelf, on which were a number of photos. A male human, a female Trill. A shot that could be a family picture, with a much younger Jall surrounded by relatives. At the end of the shelf was a small container. Stafford picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy.  
"I've been thinking about that," Stafford said finally, "I might have been…hasty." He opened the container, pulling out a solid steel ring.  
"This looks a little big to fit on a finger," Stafford said, hefting the ring.  
"It's not for my finger," Jall said flatly.  
Stafford stared at him for a moment, then realization dawned.  
"UGH!" Stafford dropped the ring like he'd been burned, "EWW! GROSS!"  
"It's been washed," now it was Jall's turn to roll his eyes.  
"EWWW! EWWW!" Stafford cried, holding his hand by the wrist like it was going to fall off. He rushed into the bathroom, where the sound of running water could be heard. Finally, Stafford emerged.  
"Why does your shower have a…never mind. I don't want to know." Stafford sighed.  
"You know, if you're going to go snooping in somebody's quarters, you can't blame anybody but yourself if you find something you don't want to see," Jall said.  
"You're right," Stafford gave a half-grin. "It's my fault, and I've got to deal with the consequences."  
"Consequences," Jall snorted.  
"There was porn on your bathroom wall," Stafford said darkly, "There were no women. That's a consequence I hope to never see again,"  
Jall started to chuckle.  
"What?" Stafford asked.  
Jall's chuckles grew to laughter. In spite of himself, Stafford felt himself joining in.  
Laughter fading, Jall picked the ring up off the floor, returned it to its container and set it down on the shelf. Stafford stood and prepared to leave.  
"Look, Jall," Stafford said, "I picked you for this job because I thought you were the best candidate. Well, actually, you were the only candidate that didn't make a total ass of himself. But that still means you were the best choice. If we're going to be working together, I want to put aside some of the problems we've had."  
Jall looked suspicious.  
"Are you sure Sylvia hasn't been talking to you?" he asked.  
"I swear," Stafford said, raising his right hand, "Have a good night, San. I'll see you on the bridge tomorrow,"  
The doors hissed shut.  
Jall stood staring at the door for a moment.  
"That was bizarre," he said.  
"Oh, not that bizarre," a voice said from behind him. Jall spun around to see Sylvia standing there.  
"I thought you'd stopped spying on people!" he said sharply.  
"I heard my name mentioned," Sylvia shrugged, "The audio pickups do scan for that, you know."  
"Right, right," Jall sighed, "Well, I'm going to bed, so if you wouldn't mind…"  
"I just thought you'd like to know," Sylvia said, "That I really didn't talk to Chris about you today. In fact, the only person who talked to him about you was Wowryk, and she thought you should be punished."  
"Big surprise," Jall muttered. He crossed his arms again, "But I find it hard to believe it's all 'forgive and forget', not when he thinks I arranged that stupid party,"  
"Oh, he knows it wasn't you," Sylvia said, "He was standing in that doorway for a while before anybody noticed him. He saw your entire speech, right from about the time you told everybody you couldn't act like a drunken maniac all the time,"  
Jall stared at her.  
"Surprising how much standing up for the rules in front of the crew has changed his opinion of you, isn't it?" Sylvia smiled.  
Jall was speechless.  
"Have a nice night!" Sylvia waved, vanishing in a shower of holographic sparks.  
"Son of a bitch!" Jall murmered.

End

Next: Jerome Johnson has only been on Silverado for a few months, but he's already having trouble dealing with the various personalities on the ship. On top of that, the recent shuffle in the command crew has left some of the extras feeling a bit…left out. Does everybody just kiss and make up? Doubtful. Find out what really happens in Silverado 4.2, coming to a Nexus near you!


	2. Day on Nights

Star Traks: Silverado

4.2 "Day on Nights"

"What day is it again?" Ensign Pye asked, yawning.  
"It's Wednesday," Lieutenant Quintaine offered.  
"Oh, thank God," Pye sighed.  
"Why?" Ensign Bith asked, "That means there's nothing on holovision except for the Xujo Han'zon Wednesday Night Interspecies Mating show,"  
"I love that show," Ensign Day said, his Deltan heritage giving even that simple phrase a sensual undertone.  
"Me too!" Ensign Burke piped in, "Especially when she uses those little figurines! Too bad there're no pictures, though,"  
"And neither of you think it's a bit…dirty?" Pye asked.  
"It's educational," Bith sighed, "Which means it's boring,"  
The five evening-shift officers were riding the turbolift from their quarters deep in the saucer section up to the bridge. Normally, such a trek would take seconds by turbolift. However, since it was shift change, officers and crew all over the large ship were heading to their quarters, heading to their duty stations or heading to Deck 12 for some recreation. With a limited number of turbolift tubes (and turbolifts!), shift change was pretty much the equivalent of rush-hour traffic on a starship. Luckily, the last turbolift collision had been years ago, before Sylvia's influence had helped mesh the ship's unique blend of state-of-the-art and obsolete technology into a working whole.  
"So," Bith asked as the turbolift paused again, probably to let another turbolift pass through the horizontal/vertical transfer point a deck above them, "Why are you glad it's Wednesday?"  
"Because," Day broke in, "Ensign Yanick uses a different shampoo every day of the week."  
"So?" Quintaine asked.  
"So," Pye said, "Wednesday is 'Vulcan Essence of Logic' day,"  
"I tried that once," Bithe said, absently stroking her hair, "All my curls straightened out. But it did give me a lovely shine,"  
"And it's completely odorless," Day said, crossing his arms as the turbolift started moving upwards again, "Unlike Monday, which is 'Klingus by Gant'ur', smells like wet targ and saturates the entire conn/ops area."  
"The smell gets into my chair," Pye wrinkled his nose, "And it just…lingers…"  
"Why would she use stinky shampoo?" Bith asked as the doors opened. She stepped out onto the bridge.  
"Because some people," Burke said with a slight nod in T'Parief's direction, "believe that the stench of death is 'underappreciated'."  
"Ew," Bith sniffed.

It took only a few moments for the shift change to be completed. Fifebee and Burke conversed briefly; Fifebee updating him on events of the day and Burke asking (again) if Fifebee had taken any pictures of her unsuccessful attempt to copulate with Ensign Grant. T'Parief glared down at Bith, attempting to intimidate her with his glaring red eyes. Bith had taken over some of Lieutenant Stern's bridge duties to allow him to focus on working with the Hazardous Team, but she'd worked on Silverado long enough to know that T'Parief was harmless…as long as you were on his side. Pye tried to catch a sniff of Yanick's hair as she surrendered her console, wanting only to confirm tonight was indeed 'Vulcan Essence of Logic' day and not realizing that being caught in the act by her boyfriend would get him into a very large amount of trouble, whether you were on his side or not! Lieutenant Quintaine stepped into the ready room to meet with Stafford.  
"Anything interesting happen today?" Ensign Day asked Lt. Commander Johnson.  
"Very little," Johnson said in his oh-so-primly-proper British accent, "We did run into a distress signal, but the bloke had triggered it by accident when cleaning his bridge,"  
"Didn't Ensign Yanick do the same thing a month or to ago?" Day asked.  
"I wouldn't know," Johnson said, stepping away from the ops seat, "I wasn't on board at that time,"  
"Oh, yes," Day dropped down into the seat, "How could I have forgotten?"  
Johnson crossed his arms and looked like he was about to say something. Before he could, he suddenly became aware that all of the evening shift officers were watching the exchange, closely. And they weren't looking very sympathetic.  
"Honest mistake," he said, retreating for the turbolift, "By the way, do you know when the ship's orchestra will be performing next?"  
"Um, we don't have an orchestra," Pye said crossly, "What ship have YOU been serving on?"  
"The wrong one," Johnson muttered as the doors closed.

"No!" Stafford said, "I refuse. She's just too…you know…"  
"Competent?" Jall shot back, "Efficient?"  
"She used to be!" Stafford replied, "Until she got that upgrade! I know Lieutenant Fifebee's been a good science officer, but I don't know how stable she is anymore!"  
"Right, as opposed to Ensign Yanick, who's been on the promotion list since you started drawing it up," Jall leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, "How many 'fender benders' has she gotten us into?"  
"Uh-huh," Stafford leaned forward onto his desk, "As opposed to Ensign Thanials? Were't you telling Yanick that he had the hottest-"  
"How did you hear that?" Jall cut in, "If Yanick told you-"  
"I sat two feet behind the two of you for almost three years!" Stafford interrupted, "I've heard things I hope I never hear again!"  
"Just be thankful your quarters weren't next to mine," Jall muttered. He stopped, then sat up.  
"Hey!" he said, "If I'm first officer now, that means I get quarters on Deck 2 now, right?"  
"I was hoping you wouldn't remember that," Stafford signed, "But yeah. You get Noonan's old quarters,"  
"Sweet!" Jall clapped his hands, "They're bigger AND they have a better view,"  
"Right," Stafford sighed again, "Look, back to the promotion list…"  
The promotion list had actually been due weeks ago. Around the same time he had been hunting for a replacement for Noonan, Stafford had realized that there had been very few promotions on Silverado since the ship had launched. This, added to that the fact that Starfleet had, for whatever reason, given him a very junior crew, meant that Stafford had a ship with a couple hundred Ensigns, a handful of Lieutenants and only 5 officers with a rank of Lieutenant Commander or higher. One of those, of course, was himself. There were hundreds of enlisted personnel as well, but their advancements were relatively easy to handle.  
When Noonan had left, Stafford had suddenly found himself with only two officers who could fill the vacancy. If another one of his command staff decided to resign or transfer, he wanted to be sure he had a larger pool of replacements. Never mind the potential morale problems he'd be dealing with if he didn't promote those who really deserved it…  
Many of the names on the promotion list were relative no-brainers. Lieutenant Quintaine, for example, had commanded the evening shift almost flawlessly for nearly three years and was on the 'YES' list. So was Ensign Rengs, the Bajoran security officer who had managed to solve more problems than he caused. Then there was Ensign Simmons, who had a tendency to cause things to go 'Kabloomy'. In his defense, that was his job as an explosives expert. But he really did need to learn the difference between an enemy stronghold and the duck pond in the arboretum and as such was on the 'NO' list. Ditto for Ensign Burke. While he performed his duties reasonably well, he'd also been written up more than once for using the bridge viewscreen for extremely-high definition pornography. He was a definite 'NO'.  
In between was a host of 'MAYBE's. Lt. Commander Jeffery and Lt. Commander T'Parief were both 'MAYBE's. Having more than one officer at the rank of Commander would balance out the ship, but Jeffery had more than his share of questionable incidents over the past year and T'Parief…well. Stafford was hesitant about promoting either one of them after the whole 'Silverado Idol' fiasco. Added to that list was Ensign Dar'ugal, who scored high in aptitude but very low in leadership and communication skills.  
The end result was that Stafford and Jall had been going back and forth over potential candidates for weeks. Their conversations ranged from bored to calm to 'DIE-SCUM-DIE!' Still, they had made great strides in their working relationship. Not to say things were perfect. Jall still found Stafford to be an arrogant and Stafford still thought Jall was immature and annoying, but hey…at least progress was being made.  
Luckily, the ready room door chimed before this conversation could escalate further.  
"Come in," Stafford said, starting to gather up the padds scattered across his desk.  
"Ready to call it a day, sir?" Lieutenant Quintane asked, stepping into the ready room.  
"Yes, yes, oh God, yes," Jall said, climbing out of his seat.  
"Not so fast, Jall," Stafford said, holding out one padd, "You need to have these replicator usage reports ready to file by tomorrow,"  
"Aww, but tonight is Poetry Corner in the Arboreteum!" Jall objected, "You know how much I like creative literature!"  
"The report will take 15 minutes!" Stafford said, forgetting about Quintaine and leading the way out of the ready room, "Stop whining!"  
"Have a good night, then," Quintaine said as the two officers left.  
There was silence on the bridge for several minutes as the evening shift officers finished settling themselves in.  
"Our course this fine evening is going to take us within half a light-year of a Class 4 nebula," Pye said in his best 'Tour Guide' voice, "Please keep your hands and arms inside the starship!"  
"Yeah, that never gets old," Bith said from tactical.  
"It's called 'tradition,' Pye said, "And besides, I'm bored!"  
"You just got here!" Quintane said.  
"I know," Pye sighed.  
There was silence for a while.  
"Soo," he said, "Tetris, anybody?"  
"I'll play," Day shrugged. They quickly setup the game on their consoles. On the main screen, starlines were replaced by ancient, pixilated graphics as polyphonic music began to issues from Daystrom Digital surround speakers around the bridge.  
The two men played silently for a while, one eye on the screen and the other watching their panels for any sign of a problem.  
"So," Pye said, "saw you talking to Johnson earlier,"  
"What of it?' Day asked.  
"Nothing," Pye shrugged, "It's just nice that you're keeping him cut down to size, that's all. Reminding him he's the n00b here,"  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Day replied calmly. His Tetris stack was still only a few rows high, while Pye's was nearly double, "I simply forgot that he hadn't been on board,"  
"Please," Bith said from tactical, cocking one hip, "You're cracking the old whip, letting him know who's higher up in the Ops pecking order,"  
"He is," Day said, his voice becoming flatter than normal, "He is the senior Operations officer, after all,"  
"I don't know why they didn't promote you into that slot," Bithe went on, "I mean, you do your job well, you've been on the ship for a lot longer,"  
The piece Day was currently positioning skittered across the playing area, landing on top of another piece in a manner that did not conduct itself to the goals of Tetris.  
"I don't think talk like that is going to make Mr. Day feel better," Lieutenant Quintaine cut in.  
"It's alright," Day said, "I'm sure the Captain had his reasons,"  
"Really?" Pye asked, "Let's explore that, shall we?"  
"Let's not," Quintaine pleaded.  
"C'mon, we've got all night!"

Captain's Log, Stardate 58652.4:

"We've arrived at Sumatrus 3, a planet currently under the jurisdiction of the Federations First Contact Office. There have actually been rumors that the FCO is thinking of chancing their name to the Starfleet New Observation Operations Programs, but apparently a focus group didn't like the new acronym very much."  
"Anyway, Sumatrus 3 is a planet in the later stages of development, close to mid 21st-century Earth, with First Contact anticipated sometime in the next 8 to 10 standard years. We've been assigned to send a data-collection team down to the planet to see if their development is in line with the FCO's predictions,"  
"On a personal note, I'm not sure what happed last night, but it sounds like the night shift was in a pretty foul mood when the overnight crew took over. I wonder if there's a problem I should know about? Naw, probably not."

"The captain's an idiot!" Day slurred, wavering slightly on his bar stool.  
"Doesn't know what's right in front of him, Pye agreed, leaning on his elbows.  
"Barkeep! Another round!" Bith said. It had been a very long night, debating back and forth over why Day should have been given the Ops position instead of Johnson and she was tired. And drunk. And starting to get tired too. Being a minor character was a surprising amount of work. She had to keep things aboard ship up and running while the senior staff was dealing with the crises of the week! The hours sucked, she didn't get much in the way of recognition and she constantly ran the risk of being killed off to prove the senior staff was in real danger. She really, really needed a way to blow off some steam.  
Unfortunately, when she called for another drink, nothing happened.  
"Ohhh…" Bithe grimaced, brushing back her long hair, "Sylvia, can you bring back the Emergency Holographic Bartender?"  
"No need," Steven's voice came from behind them, "What are you people doing in here? I don't open for another hour!"  
"We came in after shift," Pye shrugged, "Nothing wrong with that!"  
"You guys got off shift 8 hours ago!" Steven crossed his arms.  
"Well, we were talkin'," Pye slurred, "Then we talked more…and then we noticed this thing on the floor that looked like a butterfly," his voice suddenly became very sad, "Only wasn't,"  
"Uh-huh," Steven wasn't impressed, "Look, guys," he gave Bith an appraising glance, "And attractive woman. You need to clear out. Go clear your heads,"  
"I'm not sleepy," Bith said suddenly figuring out just how she could blow off some steam and maybe even get herself enough recognition to avoid being killed off by whomever controlled her universe. She turned, giving Steven a slow wink.  
Steven crossed his arms.  
"Shake it off!" he insisted.  
With a sigh, the three officers made the mental effort needed to dismiss the effects of synthohol.  
"Ugh, that 10 second hangover is a killer," Day sighed, "Now I'm just tired,"  
"I'm not," Bith said, still eyeing Steven like a piece of meat at the grocery store.  
"Let's go," Pye said, "We can make fun of the captain more tomorrow…I mean, tonight," he and Day left.  
"Make fun of the captain?" Steven asked.  
"Oh, we're just annoyed that Stafford didn't even think about promoting anybody from the night shift to fill the open Ops slot," Bith explained, "So, handsome. Come here often?"  
"Yes. I work here, remember?" Steven nodded, "So what if-"  
He was cut off as Bith jumped him, pulling him to the floor.

"Good morning everybody!" Stafford said cheerfully, standing in front of his officers in the conference lounge, "I hope you all slept well? Feeling great?"  
"Why the hell are ye in such a good mood?" Jeffery asked, "Did ye finally get a woman into yer room?"  
"He's just one of those insufferably happy morning people," Jall grumbled, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.  
"Perhaps he has begun experimenting with illegal, mind altering substances?" Fifebee asked, rising a newly pierced eyebrow.  
"You're just jealous that those things only work on organic beings," Jall said.  
"I have inebriation subroutines, thank you," Fifebee said coolly, "and can readily create new programming to allow me experience whatever I wish. Perhaps you would care to help me test my new Andorian Pleasure Mistress subroutine?"  
"Sorry, sweetie," Jall said, resting his chin on his hands, "I don't swing that way,"  
"If I desired you, you would not have a choice," Fifebee shot back.  
"Ahh," Stafford laughed, "You guys crack me up,"  
Everybody stared at him. Wowryk reached down to one hip, pulling out her medical tricorder.  
"Oh, cut it out!" Stafford said, noticing the instrument, "Look, I had a really good night's sleep, we're on an assignment that actually resembles a proper Starfleet mission and everything on the ship is going just peachy. Why shouldn't I be happy?"  
"Jall's gonna be your next-door neighbor," Jeffery stated.  
Jall gave Stafford a big grin.  
Stafford slowly blinked.  
"Nope," he said finally, "I'm not letting that ruin my mood. I'm not letting anything ruin my mood, not even the way Johnson mis-calibrated the navigation deflector this morning,"  
"I said I would re-paint that scratch on the outer hull," Johnson muttered.  
"Rookie," Jeffery said, "Ye'd think that the Academy would still be teachin' ye youngin's to properly run a ship!"  
"I graduated a year before you did!" Johnson objected.  
"So, on to our mission!" Stafford said happily, "We're taking a good, close look at Sumatrus 3. Nobody's going to be shooting at us, there's no weird body-switching, or genetic aliens, or temporal fracturing. Just a nice, peaceful civilization that, with any luck, will be discovering warp drive in about 5 years or so,"  
"Warp drive really is an amazing technology," Fifebee broke in eagerly, "I am, quite frankly, astonished that any organic brain could conceive of combining matter and anti-matter to form a high-energy plasma. Or, for that matter, injecting said plasma into the unique combination of alloys needed to create even a low efficiency warp coil,"  
"Have we just been insulted?" Yanick quietly asked Jall.  
"Possibly," Jall muttered back, "But I think it was more of a general insult. Nothing personal."  
"Oh," Yanick giggled, "Goody!"  
"Would anybody like some coffee, by the way?" Stafford asked, getting to his feet, "I forgot to ask earlier,"  
"Ok, seriously, Chris," Jeffery said, "This is getting' creepy,"  
"I would love a cup of tea," Johnson said meekly.  
"Sorry," Jall said before Stafford could reply, "Only experienced officers get coffee. Or tea."  
"I'll get it," Yanick said.  
"Naw, nevermind," Stafford said before Johnson could reply, "So, the mission. We need to evaluate the development of the Sumatrians. Easy mission. We beam down, we take a look, take a few notes, and beam back up. Any questions?"  
Johnson raised his hand.  
"Any other questions?" Jall asked.  
"Ah'd like to examine their research on warp propulsion," Jeffery said.  
"Sure," Stafford shrugged, "That's what I have planned anyway. Except," he referred to his padd, "the Sumatrians call it a 'Pulsating Squeeze Drive'."  
Jall and Yanick exchanged one glance, then started laughing so hard they almost fell off their chairs.  
"A whot?" Johnson asked, speaking loudly to be heard over the giggles.  
"No doubt they refer to the process in which the warp coils are sequentially activated with bursts of electro-plasma, creating a carefully controlled warp field that 'squeezes' the ship through warp space," Fifebee said.  
"Activate Squeeze Drive!" Jall giggled.  
"Vibration Factor 1!" Yanick added, laughing loudly.  
"Shouldn't that be Pulsate Factor 1?" Johnson asked.  
The laughter dimmed, then died. Yanick looked blankly at Johnson.  
"You say 'potato', Jall said, "She says po-tah-to,"  
"And I say it's time to get on with it," Wowryk grumbled impatiently.  
"Yes," Stafford said, "OK. So, Dr. Worwryk, you'll be taking a look at their medical sciences. We've got you beaming down with Nurse Kerry to one of their major medical centers on the southern continent."  
"Very well," Wowryk bowed her head.  
"And Doctor," Stafford shook his finger as though reminding a child to stay out of the mud, "No religious conversions!"  
"Yes, heathen Captain, sir," Wowryk replied.  
"Jeffery, you and Jall are going to their top-secret propulsion research center on the north pole. Dress warmly,"  
"Aye, mum," Jeffery replied.  
"Oh! If it gets too cold, we can always huddle up to conserve body heat!" Jall teased.  
Jeffery gave Stafford a pained expression that very clearly said 'Can I go alone?'  
"A little too far, Commander," Stafford said.  
"Aye sir," Jall said, throwing a mock-salute, "Straightening up, sir!"  
"Thank ye, God!" Jeffery muttered.  
"Fifebee," Stafford went on, "I want you to check out their agriculture. Take Johnson with you, OK?"  
"Why must I babysit the nOOb?" Fifebee asked, "Surely Yanick would be better suited to such a study?"  
"Because Yanick has a tendency to talk too much, which is bad when you're supposed to be undercover! And because I said so," Stafford said, "And, I'm sorry, the what?"  
"Newbie," Jall translated.  
"Oh,"  
"That means I get the day off, right Captain?" Yanick asked hopefully.  
"Sure," Stafford shrugged, "Why not."  
"Hey, can I have a day off too?" Jall jumped in.  
"Nope," Stafford said, still grinning, "You have a job to do,"  
"If I may say so, Captain," Johnson cut in, "I noticed you haven't assigned anybody to examine their political system.  
"Sure I have," Stafford said, "Me. I got it covered. You just run along with Fifebee and play nicely. Mr. T'Parief, you have the conn."  
"But-"  
"I call dibs on Transporter Room 1!" Stafford said, bolting for the door.  
"Transporter Room 3!" Jeffery cried, hot on his tails.  
"Room 4!" Wowryk snapped, running off like a lioness on the prowl.  
"Damn!" Fifebee cursed, "We're stuck with Transporter Room 2!  
"Dare I ask what that means?" Johnson asked.  
"It means we're going to have to spend 20 minutes looking at pictures of Chief Haran's cats before we can beam down," Fifebee sighed.

"So," Ensign Pye yawned, tapping at the helm, "Once again, the senior staff is off to play and we're pulled out of a sound slumber to cover their asses,"  
"And I was having hot…er," Bith blushed, "Uh, a hot date,"  
"Night shift is always getting shafted by the day shift," Ensign Burke sighed.  
A deep rumble rose in T'Parief's throat as he sat uncomfortably in the command chair.  
"Er, present company excluded," Day corrected quickly.  
T'Parief stood and straighted his tail, the bones cracking loudly.  
"Ensign Bith, you may return to your quarters. I will command from the tactical station," he said.  
"Oh, sir, I couldn't!" Bithe objected, already heading for the turbolift, "It's too much work for you, and I know you enjoy the chance to – HEY! HOLD THAT TURBOLIFT!"  
"Shafted again," Day sighed.  
"Transporter rooms report," Quintaine broke off as he yawned loudly, "Excuse me, transporter rooms report that all away teams have beamed down." he shifted, trying to get comfortable in Jall's seat.  
"Maintain geosynchronous orbit," T'Parief ordered, "Engine status?"  
"We've taken warp and impulse engines off-line," Lieutenant Sage reported from the Engineering console, "Maintaining orbit with thrusters and inertia. Angle to the planet is set to minimize visibility, running lights off,"  
"Excellent," T'Parief nodded.  
There was silence for several seconds.  
Then several minutes.  
Half an hour.  
"Pardon me," T'Parief said, "I must use the facilities." He stepped through the door leading to the conference room and the lavatory. No sooner did the doors hiss shut than Pye spun his chair to face Day.  
"If you don't say something to him, I will!"  
"Hmmm?" Day asked, running a hand over his bald head.  
"About Johnson!" Pye said, "We've got a senior officer hanging around the bridge, let's see if we can dig up the dirt on why you didn't get the Ops officer position!"  
"We might not get this chance again for awhile," Quintaine agreed, "Not with the missions we've been getting lately!"  
"But-"  
The bridge doors opened as T'Parief returned.  
"Did I miss anything?" he asked.  
"I thought I saw a comet," Ensign Burke said, "But it was just blob of gravy on the display screen,"  
There was silence for several more moments.  
"Er, Commander," Pye asked politely, "Could I, um, could we ask a question?"  
"Of course you may," T'Parief said, "However, if it involves my personal life, I may have to gut and consume you,"  
Pye gulped, his face blanching.  
"That was a joke," T'Parief sighed.  
"Oh. Heh heh. So, um, do you have any idea why Johnson was made head of the Operations department instead of Ensign Day here?"  
"Such wit," Day grumbled, "Such tact!"  
T'Parief cocked his head, thinking.  
"I believe the Captain had to put Johnson somewhere. With Jall's promotion, the Operations slot was most convenient."  
"So it didn't have anything to do with Johnson being more skilled, or more experienced or anything like that?" Pye pressed.  
"I do not believe so. But if you really wish to know, you will have to ask Stafford himself,"  
"Yeah, well. He's on a pretty important mission right now, isn't he?"

Stafford was struggling to stay awake. Dressed in Sumatrian cloths and sporting an impressive (and prosthetic) pair of blade-like talons on his elbows, he had posed as a tourist and made his way to the building that housed the Sumatrian government. Learning about Sumatrian government turned out to be as easy as using a bit of his replicated local currency to purchase a spot on a tour group. So far, the tour had consisted of his group being led into a large amphitheatre where they were forced to watch video after video detailing the history of Sumatrian government, the origins of their political parties and the events leading up to their planetary unification.  
His eyes drooped, drool threatening to spill down his chin.

Fifebee and Johnson had materialized on an empty gravel road. It was a beautiful day out. The sun was shining brightly, the air was fresh and clean and the sides of the road were a virtual garden of grasses, flowers and weeds. The land was fairly flat, covered with fields of tall plants that looked like a cross between wheat and canola. One could see the horizon in all directions. Living on a starship (or in a city), one tended to get used to being able to see only a few meters before finding a bulkhead, building or other object that blocked the view. To suddenly go from a cramped transporter room into the great outdoors was an almost physical shock. Johnson could almost feel the enormity of the planet beneath him. He felt tiny, miniscule. The softly waving crops went on, and on, and on, giving him the impression that he was the smallest bump on an infinitely large surface.  
"Quite breathtaking," Johnson said softly.  
"If you're into that sort of thing," Fifebee grunted, adjusting her holographic relay. She had barely glanced at the panoramic vista, her full attention focused immediately on the holo-relay that allowed her to be projected outside of the ship. The anti-grav on the bottom of the unit had been replaced with wheels for this mission; the Sumatrians wouldn't discover anti-gravity for at least another 7 years.  
"Who would not enjoy this kind of view?" Johnson asked, turning slowly around, "The sky…the clouds…the endless fields. It almost makes me want to frolic!"  
"Perhaps, as an artificial being, I prefer settings that are somewhat more…artificial," Fifebee said crisply. The rest of the crew was familiar with Fifebee's disdain of nature and the various creepy-crawly bugs and critters that came with it. Johnson, being new to the crew, wasn't.  
"Oh," Johnson said. He was quiet for a moment.  
"How do you plan on explaining your holographic relay to the inhabitants of this planet?" he asked. Obviously, since Sumatrius was a low-tech planet, they couldn't reveal Fifebee's holographic nature.  
"The Captain and I have carefully constructed a cover story," Fifebee said. She made once last adjustment to the relay. It shimmered, then took on a new appearance. It retained its cylindrical shape, but the display panel on the side was now covered by a plate of metal and the subspace transceiver now resembled a series of pipes.  
"It looks like an ancient hot-water heater," Johnson said, frowning.  
"Precisely," Fifebee nodded, "We will tell anybody who asks that I am a plumber. Now, stop asking questions and help me locate a farmer,"  
"What about that?"  
Fifebee turned. A four-legged animal, somewhat resembling a dog with a ridge of sharp spines along its back, was running towards them.  
"That is not a farmer," Fifebee said sharply, "That is a canine-like animal,"  
"Yes but-"  
Johnson was cut off as the animal jumped, knocking him to the ground.  
"Help!" he cried, "It's killing me! It's…"  
"It is licking your face," Fifebee said, crossing her arms.  
"I forgot what it was like to receive a warm greeting," Johnson sighed, pushing the animal off and staggering to his feet.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Day asked as he, Quintaine and Pye walked down the corridor on Deck 13.  
"Sure it is," Pye said, "All my ideas are good,"  
"What about the time you wanted to try waterskiing behind the ship?" Quintaine asked.  
"Even though there's no water in space," Day chipped in, "And forgetting the fact that you'd be shredded at the molecular level if you accidentally passed outside of the warp field,"  
"OK," Pye admitted, "So some ideas are more good than others. But they're still all good,"  
"Are you sure T'Parief bought our story?" Day asked.  
"After you and Ensign Burke finished that last round of 'Who Would You Do?', I think he was just glad to get rid of us," Quintaine sighed.  
"Ok," Pye said, getting the trio back on track, "Here's the idea. It's easy. We don't like Johnson. He's new, he thinks he's better than us and he's already been exposed as a liar once. We like Day. He's been with the ship since the beginning. So we go around and see how much the rest of the crew supports us."  
"You do realize," Day said, "that this is a starship, not a democracy. If Stafford doesn't want me as a senior officer, we can't force him,"  
"You heard T'Parief," Pye shrugged, "Stafford just gave the job to Johnson cuz he needed to put him somewhere,"  
"Why are you so keen on getting me off the evening shift?" Day asked, eyes narrowing, "What's in it for you?"  
"What?" Pye looked shocked, "I can't do a favour for my good buddy?"  
Quintaine and Day exchanged glances.  
"OK, OK," Pye sighed, "Look, it's just…none of the chicks every pay any attention to me when you're around. You've got that whole Deltan Pheromone thing going on,"  
"I would never-" Day started.  
"-take advantage of a sexually immature species," Pye and Quintaine finished the standard Deltan slogan as they approached a series of living quarters, "Yes, we know. And we keep telling you you're an idiot,"  
"But let's see what kind of support we've got," Pye said, turning to the first set of doors and pressing the chime.  
No answer.  
"Lazy good for nothing," Pye grumbled, thumbing the door chime again.  
Still nothing.  
"Sylvia!" Pye called, "Where is," he squinted at the name plate on the door, "Chief Petty Officer Chulkary?"  
"Chief Chulkary is in the Xeno-biology laboratory," Sylvia's said. Her voice was a bit dull; lacking the usual cheerful energy that had been the trademark of the artificial intelligence residing in the ship's computer core. Pye and company had noticed that Sylvia had seemed increasingly bored over the past few months. She'd been spending less time interacting with the crew, and more time buried in the virtual world that was her domain. Nobody really knew why exactly she was bored, it could have been that she'd grown tired of dealing with the hundreds of requests that went through the computer on a daily basis. Or maybe she'd grown weary of having the same old stars visible to her sensor arrays. Heck, for all anybody knew, maybe she was lonely? Just how did you about setting up a virtual woman on a blind date? Especially if her physical form was that of a multi-megaton starship?  
"What the heck is he doing there?" Pye asked, annoyed.  
"Probably on his duty shift," Day shrugged, "It's the middle of the afternoon, you know,"  
"I know," Burke said, yawning loudly.  
"Chief Chulkary is currently on duty," Sylvia supplied helpfully.  
"Crap," Pye frowned. He walked a few steps down the corridor to the next set of doors, this set belonging to Yeoman Amir.  
Pye pressed the door chime. Again, there was no answer. He pressed it again. Tapped it a few times. Finally, he leaned on it until the soft chime threatened to turn into an ear-splitting shriek.  
"Sylvia!" Pye snapped, "Where the hell is Yeoman Amir?"  
"Yeoman Amir is currently in the first officer's office," Sylvia said promptly, "And before you ask, he's on duty, helping Jall with the thruster fuel consumption reports,  
"Look, Travis," Day said calmly, "It's really not that important. Let's just head back up to the bridge,"  
"I'm doing this, dammit," Pye said firmly, "It's a matter of honour, now!"

Johnson staggered down the dirt road, sweat beading on his ebony skin. The sun, which had bathed him in such gentle warmth before, was now beating down on him mercilessly. He'd been walking behind Fifebee for what felt like miles, trying to stay in the meager shade offered by her 'water heater'. The canine-like creature trotted happily alongside them. It was almost like a dog. A larger dog, along the size of a German Shepard or a Doberman, but there were enough differences that Johnson had no problem remembering that it was an alien species. The serrated spikes on the animal's legs and back were one big hint. (Everything on the planet seemed to have blades, spikes or talons at elbow/knee joints.) The fact that the animal did not pant but instead sweated was another big clue. The biggest clue had to be the animal's body odour, which really wasn't helped by all the sweating the poor critter was doing under the hot sun.  
On the other hand, Johnson reflected, he probably didn't smell all that great either.  
"I tell you," he said again to Fifebee, "There are people nearby. There must be!"  
"And how have you come to this conclusion?" Fifebee asked, remaining carefully upwind of both Johnson and the animal.  
"It's friendly," Johnson said, pointing at the creature, "Domestic. Clearly it is used to having people around,"  
"Perhaps," Fifebee acknowledged with a tilt of her head, "Or, perhaps, it has mistaken you for one of its own. You certainly smell similar,"  
"Really, Lieutenant," Johnson said, still panting, "Is it necessary for you to insult and belittle me along with your fellow officers? I would think a hologram like yourself would be above such petty squabbling,"  
"I have been programmed to simulate the behavior of an organic being," Fifebee replied, "Unfortunately, that includes petty squabbling, bickering, insults and flaws,"  
"Flaws?" Johnson muttered.  
"Eww!" Fifebee cried out as a large wasp-like creature landed on her head, "Get it off! Get it off this instant!"  
Johnson, quick to oblige, lunged at Fifebee, smashing the wasp-creature flat. What he hadn't planned on was the shower of bug guts that promptly seeped into Fifebee's hair.  
"Idiot!" she cried, pushing him away, "In the name of nVidia, what were you thinking?"  
"You wanted it dead!" Johnson protested.  
"I wanted it off! Not smeared into my hair!" Fifebee cried. She shimmered briefly, her holographic form losing its form long enough for the insect remains to fall to the ground, "Honestly!" she huffed.  
"You know," Johnson said, ever so politely, "I do outrank you. I would think that you should be addressing me in a more respectful manner!"  
Fifebee considered for a moment. Yes, Johnson was higher than her in rank. Yes, he did have seniority over here. Logically, she should be treating him as such. Johnson really should be in charge of the away team, but neither Stafford or Fifebee had even considered that. But even as Fifebee considered these points and prepared to submit to Johnson's authority, another part of her rebelled. Johnson didn't deserve to be in charge of the team, this part of her cried. She was the science expert. He didn't know enough about agriculture to make any kind of intelligent observations about the Sumatrian crops. She, on the other hand, had uploaded full Xeno-botany and Xeno-agriculture databases into her program. She attempted to query her emotional subroutines to determine just why she felt such hostility towards Johnson, but received no answer that she could make sense of.  
"My apologies, Lieutenant Commander," Fifebee said coolly, her subroutines reaching a compromise, "Simply stay out of my way, and I will be happy to address you in a respectful manner.  
"I guess that's the best I'm going to get," Johnson sighed.

"Pye, enough of this s**t," Burke groaned, "You realize we're supposed to go on duty in two hours? I should still be sleeping! Or enjoying a nice holovision show featuring those really hot Orion slave girls,"  
"We're already on duty," Pye replied immediately, "They'll just bring up another batch of minor characters to cover us. There's no way they can expect us to cover the bridge for the senior staff AND still do our full duty shifts, right?"  
"Why didn't they just have minor characters fill in for the senior staff to being with?" Day wondered.  
"We're more fun," Burke said.  
"Anyway, we can't fail with this one," Pye said. They'd moved on to Deck 15. Even on a ship as large as an Ambassador-class vessel, it just isn't feasible to give each one of the 800+ officers, crewmembers and civilians on board quarters of their own. The senior officers for each of the duty shifts rated their own quarters, as did some of the lower officers. Once you started to get down to Ensign Redshirt, just graduated from the Academy, no special distinctions and assigned to man some random panel in some random location…well, you're looking at groups of two or three people sharing quarters that resembled tiny two or three bedroom apartments. Families shared quarters, of course, and while Silverado had a decent number of families on board, she wasn't as large or family-friendly as a Galaxy-class ship. Some non-commissioned crewmembers, mainly those who had many years of seniority, rated their own quarters or perhaps a roommate. But once you get down to the junior crewmen like Shwaluk, Gibson or Roscoe, then you're looking at barracks-style living, with as many as 12 people in a room.  
The particular set of quarters that Pye had led them to was one of these rooms. Instead of listing the names of all the occupants on the door, it was simply labeled 'Cabin 15-102'.  
"See, they've got 11 people living in these quarters," Pye said confidently, "Working on different shifts too, so the place never gets too crowded. So you know that there will be a few people home! If we want to drum up some support, this is the place to be!"  
He stepped through the door, not bothering to ring.  
The room wasn't much bigger than the senior officer's quarters. The single room had 6 pairs of bunk beds running along the rear wall. To Pye's left a pair of doors led to a large multi-unit washroom that was shared with the next barracks-style room down the corridor. Two tables with chairs sat to Pye's right. The room was very minimal, the expectation being that the occupants would go to the lounges, Arboretum or galley for their meals and leisure time.  
Unfortunately for Pye and his team, that's exactly what they had done. The room was empty.  
"DAMMIT!" Pye hissed.

Johnson and Fifebee were still walking down the gravel road, the canine-creature still bounding along happily beside them.  
"He does seem to be a very friendly beast," Johnson observed as the animal started sniffing around a suspicious-looking clump of bush, "I believe, until we discover his proper name, that I shall call him 'Fido',"  
"The animal is female, as one can PLAINLY see from the lack of penis," Fifebee said haughtily, "And you may NOT name her Fido! Fido is the name of my parasitic alien pet,"  
"Excuse me," Johnson grimaced, "I suppose I'm just too much of a gentleman to examine the genitals of any creature I meet!"  
"If Dr. Wowryk were here, she would undoubtedly berate you for assuming the creature was male, pointing out typical sexist tendencies in the male human,"  
"I will have you know that my great-grandfather on my mother's father's side was Centaurian," Johnson said.  
"Interesting," Fifebee said , sounding anything but interested, "Did you know, that with the exception of an extra joint in the smallest finger, that there are almost no significant anatomical differences between a human and a Centaurian?"  
"There are few significant differences in personality between a hologram and a toaster over," Johnson muttered, "Fine, I'll name her Spot!"  
"Silence," Fifebee said sharply, holding up one hand, "Do you hear that?"  
Johnson stopped to listen. There was something. A rumble? He became conscious of the ground starting to vibrate beneath his feet. The sound was growing louder, a kind of rumbling whine. What on earth would make a sound like that?  
He and Fifebee spun around. Right behind them, something was coming over the hill they had just topped. It rose higher, and higher, until the full magnitude of it was visible. It was big! It was clearly a machine of some kind, running on heavy-duty rubber tires. Exhaust belched from an exhaust pipe and the engine roared with what was clearly some kind of internal combustion. Approximately the length and width of a runabout, though over twice as high, the machine bore down on them, the sun gleaming cruelly off metal struts, supports and panels . In front of the machine, a wide front section held wicked, serrated blades, huge crushing paddles and oh, were those wicked, serrated blades Johnson had seen coming straight at them?  
"AHHHHHHH!" Johnson and Fifebee screamed. The machine lunged closer, the blades gleaming in the sunlight.  
Instinct took over. Johnson grabbed Fifebee and pushed, the two of them tumbling into the grassy ditch next to the road while 'Spot' jumped happily around, convinced it was all some grand game.  
Johnson pulled himself up and turned to watch the behemoth. It was heading right for Fifebee's holo-relay!  
"Idiot!" Fifebee cursed, smacking him upside the head, "You should have protected the relay, not my holographic avatar!"  
"Well, it would look quite strange to any onlookers if I had ignored the damsel in distress and rescued the hot water heater!"  
The machine was bearing down on the relay, but…  
"It's slowing down," Fifebee said, cocking her head.  
Johnson took a closer look at the sharp blades that adorned the front of the contraption.  
"Those blades are stationary," he remarked, "They aren't even activated!"  
The machine came to a stop, giving the relay the slightest love-tap. And older Sumatrian jumped out of the operator's compartment, giving Fifebee and Johnson a smile and a wave as he did so.  
"Sorry, folks," he called, the Universal Translator instantly translating his words. The man's elbow spikes were dusty and he wore thick gloves on his hands, "Didn't mean to scare you, but these things don't exactly stop fast. Name's Wextrix,"  
"Not a problem," Fifebee said primly, holding her hands, wrists-up, in the Sumatrian equivalent of a handshake as Johnson cowered on the ground, "I wonder, sir. We're from the city, and would love to learn a bit more about how things are done here on the farm. Could you perhaps show us around?"  
"Delighted!" the Sumatrian farmer said.  
"What is this…thing?" Johnson asked, gesturing up at the machine that had nearly caused him to wet himself.  
"A harvester," Wextrix explained the functions of the machine as Fifebee took careful notes. (Her notepad was unnecessary, of course, but helped hide her holographic nature.)  
"And so after the grain is cut and fed into the core of the machine, the rotor rubs the heads against the rotor cage," Wextrix explained, "The fans blow the lighter chaff up and out while the heavier kernels fall down into the collection pans. They go off into the cleaning machinery andare then stored in the hopper until they can be unloaded."  
"I thought farmers didn't use techno-babble," Johnson whispered to Fifebee.  
"You have clearly never studied agriculture," Fifebee whispered back.  
"Of course," Wextrix went on, "You have to recalibrate the rotor cage anytime you switch crops. This thing's setup for Flaxona right now, but I can have her ready for Wharly in about 15 minutes.  
"And are you preparing to harvest any of these crops?" Fifebee asked, gesturing to the fields of grain.  
"Nope," Wextrix said, "Not for another month or two. Just moving this thing out of my way,"  
The two of them continued to discuss fertilizers, fungicides, crop rotation, genetically-modified crop strains and fluctuations in market prices until Johnson's eyes started to cross. Clearly there was more to farming that stepping in cow shit!

Pye, Burke and Day had abandoned their canvassing of personnel quarters. Instead, the trio had moved up to Deck 12, the social hub of the ship. They hadn't found anybody in the gym or the Arboretum; it was still ship's day, with Alpha shift on duty and Beta shift just getting out of bed. Still, they finally had some luck when they arrived in the crew mess/galley.  
Lacking Patsy Horton's personal touch (and the suffocating influence of Guinanco), the crew mess was still neat and comfortable. Several windows looked out at the space beyond the ship, several sets of tables and chairs were arranged in neat rows and a bank of replicators quickly produced meals. A small door in one corner led to a kitchen, for those willing to spend the time needed to actually cook a meal. A few members of Beta shift were eating breakfast, still yawning and rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Several members of Alpha shift were taking their breaks, giving Pye his first audience all day.  
"Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen, and that squid thing over in the corner," Pye said loudly.  
"That's Crewman Trac," Day whispered, "It's Velvattian"  
"It?"  
"They self-impregnate," Burke whispered, "Velvattian pornography is probably the most boring porno in the known universe!"  
"Your mind disgusts me," Day said, crossing his arms.  
"Did you three actually want something?" a Latino human asked, his casual cloths marking him as a civilian.  
"Well, yes," Pye said, unconsciously straightening his uniform top. He looked around, "Um, I don't suppose there are more people around, are there?"  
Grumbling, everybody turned away from Pye and returned to their meals.

"So what's with that there water heater?" Wextrix asked, "How come you're hauling that sucker all the way across the country? The Sumatrian farmer had finished moving his harvester and had returned for the two officers in a primitive vehicle. Fifebee's database informed her that the large storage area in the rear classified it as a 'pickup truck'. 'Spot', who as it turned out belonged to Wextrix, had been allowed to make her own way back to his yard,"  
"I am a plumber," Fifebee replied promptly.  
"And why is a plumber so interested in farming?" Wextrix asked.  
"My wife means that I'm a plumber," Johnson said, putting one arm around Fifebee, "I'm just watching her work,"  
"Ahh, young love," Wextrix chuckled.  
"You have ruined my cover story," Fifebee whispered.  
"It was ruined the moment you and Stafford came up with it," Johnson muttered back,"  
"So have you decided what colour you want the babies to be?" Wextrix asked, looking from Fifebee's pale white skin to Johnson's ebony complexion.  
Johnson's eyebrows shot up. Fifebee, of course, was fully aware that Sumatrians were exploring new genetic engineering technologies with great enthusiasm, including cosmetic uses. Stafford, had he still been conscious, would have learned all kinds of fascinating facts about the early relationships between Sumatrians of different ethnicities, including the unusual fact that racism was completely unknown on Sumatrus. On Earth, Wextrix's question could have come across as deeply offensive, but on Sumatrus it was like asking if the couple would prefer a boy or a girl.  
"We had decided to stick to the natural blend," Fifebee said, glaring daggers at Johnson, "However, my husband is sterile. Accident with a plumbing wrench, you understand,"  
"Oh," Wextrix looked embarrassed, "Sorry,"  
"Hey-" Johnson started.  
"There, there, honey," Fifebee said, patting his arm, "There's no need to defend you manhood. The prosthetics are almost as good as the real thing."  
"Yes well," Johnson crossed his arms, "At least I haven't cheated,"  
"Cheated? At what?" Wextrix asked.  
"Monogamy does not exist on this planet," Fifebee whispered to Day, "Therefore, infidelity is impossible,"  
"Sounds like a fun planet," Johnson muttered.  
"Well, if the two of you want to learn something else new, I have to do a test over here," Wextrix said, eager to end the awkward moment,"  
"Yes?" Fifebee raised her notepad, looking eager, "Excellent, I really must say, Mr. Wextrix, I have been most impressed with the information you've shared so far. Your agricultural techniques are quite sophisticated. Please, perform your test,"  
Wextrix pulled the vehicle over to the side of the road, next to a field covered with tall, thin green plants. The three of them piled out the side door, leaving Fifebee's holo-relay in the back of the truck. Wextrix started rooting around in a storage box.  
"You're really impressed?" Johnson asked.  
"For a planet in this stage of development, they have exceeded my expectations," Fifebee said, "Assuming the information I have received from Mr. Wextrix is accurate, and I have no reason to believe it isn't. While his equipment is somewhat primitive, we have discussed some new technologies being developed which are quite similar to those used on Federation member planets. And their genetic engineering has resulted in higher crop yields than one would expect, given their technology,"  
"Um, of course," Johnson said, "And what's he doing now?"  
"He is testing for a type of tiny, flying insect classified as a 'midge', "Fifebee explained, "No doubt, he will be using some form of collection technology to determine how many insects exist, if any. Or, perhaps, he may even have a very primitive life-signs detector, an analogue to early tricorders, or-"  
"YEEE-HAWWW!"  
"What in the name of Apple is he doing? Fifebee asked, frowning.  
"I believe he has gone insane," Johnson observed.  
They watched in disbelief as Wextrix ran up and down the rows of the field, holding a white disc outstretched in each hand. After a few moments, he jogged up to the gaping officers.  
"Gonna have to treat this field," he said, a grim look on his face.  
"And did the Tooth Fairy inform you of this?" Fifebee asked, raising one eyebrow.  
"Look," Wextrix, held out the discs, which turned out to be simple, paper plates. A thin layer of oil had been applied to each one, and several tiny insects were stuck to the slick surfaces.  
Fifebee's expression charged from disdain to interest and went right on to awe.  
"Amazing," she said, "You have performed a sophisticated test for crop-damaging insects using only textile products and," she ran one finger on the oil-covered surfaces, then held it up for closer examination, "Cooking oil?"  
Wextrix grinned.  
"Yup. Good thing too. The counter-insects I'll have to buy to take of these ones are expensive enough…can you imagine having to pay the Agricultural Surveyor's of Sumatrius to come in here with all that expensive analysis equipment?"

After waiting another half-hour, Pye had determined that he had as big an audience as he was likely to get. It was almost shift change, and several crewmen (and women) from Beta shift were getting ready to start their days.  
"Ladies, gentlemen, and that Velvattian squid thing in the corner," Pye started.  
"That's not Crewman Trac," Day whispered, "He left 10 minutes ago. That's our D'Ceti exchange officer, Ensign Sweddlbeshid,"  
"I'm suddenly in the mood for Calamari," Burke said thoughtfully. Day smacked him upside the head.  
"If I could get your attention," Pye went on, "I want to speak to you about a great injustice that was done, on this very ship, by our very own Captain!"  
"Outlawing Naked Limbo?" somebody asked.  
"Kicking Madame Schoonbaert's Grade 1 class out of the lounge on Ice Cream Day?" somebody else shouted out.  
"That time Commander Jall refused to go out with me?" a young crewwoman asked.  
"You know he's not into women, right?" Pye asked her.  
"That's the injustice," she said, sighing, "He's dreamy!"  
"Oh brother," Burke rolled his eyes.  
"Well, those are, um, pretty un-just injustices," Pye said, "But no, I'm talking about our new Operations Officer, Lt. Commander Johnson!"  
There was scattered muttering.  
"Here is a man," Pye said, his voice taking on the heated tone of somebody working to convince a crowd, "that come onto our ship, supposedly as a candidate for first officer. But did he get it?"  
"Well duh," a blond girl said, "Commander Jall got it. Now he won't even do Tequila shots out of my chest anymore!"  
"Exactly!" Pye said, "Wait, he did what's out of your where?"  
"Y'know," the girl, Crewwoman Makurat said, batting her eyes, "When you put the shot glass in your cleavage, then the man has to pull the glass out with his teeth and drink it,"  
Burke and Pye exchanged glances.  
"Uh, I don't get it," Burke said, "Could you demonstrate?"  
"Later!" Pye cut him off, "The point is, Johnson didn't get the first officer position! And why is that?"  
"Uh, was it because he's taller than most humans?" a Bolian man asked.  
"What?" Pye frowned, "No, that's stupid! That's like saying he didn't get it because he had an extra toe, or because he was black, or because he was bald or something! No, he didn't it because…" he gestured at Burke.  
"Uh," Burke swallowed, suddenly the center of attention, "Because he lied?"  
"Exactly!" Pye said triumphantly, "He lied! He misrat…misret…Day, help here?"  
"Misrepresented," Day muttered, looking very embarrassed.  
"Yes!" Pye threw his arms in the air, "He misrepresented himself! Pretended to be some tough guy when he was really a wimpy nothing! Acted up! Faked it! And for what? To be second in command of this funhouse? Is that the kind of man you want in charge of Operations? Is that the kind of man you want to be turning to when you have a problem with the computer systems, or the replicator? Is that the kind of man you want up on the bridge, or representing this ship?"  
Nobody said anything. Burke looked around, then shouted.  
"No!"  
"Of course not!" Pye preached, "Do you want a liar on the bridge?"  
"No!" Burke cried, suddenly feeling like he was at a religious service.  
"Do you want the operation of this ship in the hands of a man who has shown a lack of integrity?"  
"No, sir!" Burke cried out.  
"Do you want ice cream?"  
"No!" Burke frowned, "I mean, yes?"  
"Uh, sorry, that just sort of popped out," Pye swallowed.  
"This is a fun show," Crewwoman Makurat said, crossing her arms, "At least tickets were free. But what's the point?"  
"Why should we have an outsider on the bridge when there's a better choice?" Pye asked.  
"Why?" Burke shouted.  
"A finer man!" Pye was almost ranting now, "A stronger man! A man who's already served with this crew for several years! A man who distinguished himself in the battle of Matria Prime! A man who has the ability to shag any chick in a hundred light years, but has to pass because of some funky Deltan oath! A man who deserves to be in charge of Operations on this ship! And what should we do? We should march right up to Captain Stafford and insist that he put this fine officer in charge of the Operations department!"  
"He's going to hurt himself if he doesn't breath soon," Burke observed.  
"And who is that man?" Pye asked, chest heaving, face red, spittle flying from his mouth.  
"Just tell us already!" somebody called out.  
"ENSIGN J'RAR RIDALLEP-RAJ DAY!" Pye cried.  
The crewmembers in the lounge exchanged confused glances.  
"Who?" somebody asked.  
"Day!" Pye cried, "Ensign Day!"  
Confused looks.  
"The guy who's been running Operations on the Beta shift for the past three years!" Pye shouted.  
More confused looks.  
"HIM!" Pye cried, pointing at Day.  
Silence fell as crewmen looked from Pye, to Day, to Burke, then back to Pye again. Pye's face slowly shifted from red to deep purple.  
"We're not with him," Day said nervously, grabbing Burke by the arm and pulling him towards the door.

"And so," Wowryk said, "While the Sumatrians are horribly misinforming their citizens on the moral implications of sex outside of wedlock and will be horribly punished in Hell for their sins, their medical science has progressed in line with the FCO's expectations,"  
"What Dr. Wowryk means," Nurse Kerry explained, "Is that the Sumatrians have no concept of celibacy, abstinence or monogamy."  
"My kinda planet!" Jall laughed.  
"I thought so as well," Johnson added.  
"N-Nobody asked you!" Jeffery replied, huddling under a thick blanket, a cup of hot soup cradled between his frostbitten hands.  
The away teams had returned to the ship and gathered in the conference lounge for debriefing. Kerry and Wowryk were seated at the far end of the table, while Jall and Jeffery were seated to Stafford's left, snowflakes still melting in their hair. Jeffery was shivering uncontrollably, having somehow become the target of several snowballs prior to being beamed up. Stafford was drinking a very large mug of coffee and trying not to yawn while Fifebee and Johnson sat on the other side of the table, picking bits of foliage from their cloths.  
"T-T-They're progress on their 'Pulsating Squeeze Drive' is comin' along faster than expected," Jeffery shivered again, nearly spilling his soup, "They've already got a prototype drive built, and Ah bet we'll have them knockin' on Starbase 45's door in about 5 more years."  
"Mr. Jeffery forgot to point out that their prototype drive only uses one nacelle, with the fuel containers located-"  
"What Commander Jall is tryin' to say," Jeffery said sharply, "Is that the prototype looked like a giant, well, thingy,"  
"Thingy?" Stafford raised an eyebrow.  
Jeffery looked back and forth between Stafford and Wowryk.  
"If he says the word, you'll both get mad at him," Jall giggled.  
Johnson picked up the padd Jeffery and Jall had brought back with them and studied it for a moment.  
"It looks like a man's bits," he shrugged.  
"Johnson, I really don't need to hear that kind of thing in my conference lounge," Stafford said, annoyed.  
"I didn't start it!" Johnson objected.  
"You could have finished it," Jall leaned back, crossing his arms.  
"Really, why must everything come back to sex or sex organs?" Wowryk asked, looking disgusted, "It's so unprofessional,"  
"She has a point," Fifebee shrugged, "By the way, Doctor, Johnson assumed that an animal on the planet was male without confirming its gender. Is that not the sort of sexism you object to?"  
"It is," Wowryk said coolly, giving Johnson the evil eye.  
Johnson's mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything.

"What a waste of time," Pye grumbled. He was sitting at a corner booth in Unbalanced Equations. Burke, Day, Quintaine, Bithe and Sage had joined him. Normally they'd be up on the bridge, but since they had been covering for the command crew during the day (in theory, if not in fact), another group was taking their place.  
"We spent all that time going all over the ship, and by the time we found a group of people willing to listen, they didn't know who you were!" Pye shook his head in disgust.  
"Well, the only reason why they knew who Johnson is was because of the television coverage," Day shrugged, "Travis, relax. You didn't have to do this for me anyway,"  
"Yes, I did," Pye grumbled.  
"Why, exactly?" Bith asked, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, "What did you get out of it?"  
"I've been wondering that myself," Quintaine added, leaning forward over the table, his eyes gleaming.  
Pye looked around at the expectant faces looking at him.  
"I just thought," he sighed, "Well, I mean, if one of us got onto Alpha shift, it would mean that the rest could too, right? I mean, do you all really want to be the 'other' guys for the rest of your careers? Always in the command crew's shadow? If Day could move upward, I guess that would make things a bit easier for the rest of us,"  
"Oh," Quintaine sagged a bit, "That's…sort of depressing,"  
"Yup," Burke agreed.  
"Drinks for everybody?" Steven asked, having come to take their order.  
"Several," Pye, Quintaine and Burke called out together.  
"And I'll be wanting to see a…dessert menu," Bithe said, smiling suggestively at Steven.  
"The customer is always right," Steven grinned back, then turned to get drinks.  
"Hey, look who just came in," Burke said, sitting up. Across the lounge, Stafford had just walked through the doors. He nodded at Steven, grabbed a glass of something pink and fruity-looking off the bar, then took a seat at a small table.  
"We could go talk to him now," Pye suggested.  
"Don't be an idiot," Burke sneered, "Do you really think he's going to change his staff assignments just because we asked nicely?"  
"It's too late anyway," Bithe said.  
They turned again to see Johnson come into the lounge. He looked around briefly, then visibly braced himself and walked over to Stafford's table.  
"Well, this is interesting," Pye said, watching carefully.  
"Don't be a snoop," Bithe said, even as she stared at the two officers.  
"Stafford's a bit annoyed that his quiet evening has been interrupted," Pye said, leaning forward and staring at the two conversing officers, "Johnson doesn't look very apologetic. In fact, he looks pretty cold. Stafford's stiffening up, you know how he gets when people tell him things he doesn't want to hear. Like he's constipated, but he's trying to hide it. Now Johnson's getting a bit angry. Stafford's on the defensive,"  
The other evening-shift officers were watching him, listening to his every word.  
"Now Stafford's trying to calm Johnson down. Johnson doesn't want to be calmed down. Now I think Stafford's apologizing. Either that or he just swallowed something that tastes pretty nasty. Ohh, now that's interesting,"  
"What?" Pye, Bithe and Quintaine demanded.  
"See how Johnson just sat back and crossed his arms? I bet he just delivered an ultimatum! And Stafford's agreeing!"  
Indeed, Stafford was giving Johnson a resigned nod.  
"Well," Pye sighed, "I guess Johnson's going to be here for a long time,"

The following morning, Stafford sat in his ready room. The door chimed, and Jall came in, ready for their morning chat.  
"So, what's new? Anything juicy?" Jall asked.  
"Johnson's transferring off the ship," Stafford said flatly.  
"Really?" Jall looked surprised, "Why?"  
"He said something about us being 'the rudest, most uncouth group of officers he's ever had the misfortune of serving with'," Stafford said.  
"Huh," Jall frowned, "I wonder what gave him that impressing?"  
"Don't have a clue,' Stafford shrugged, "Now get the hell out of my office!"  
"Yessir, Captain sir!"

End

Ever felt underappreciated? Felt like you boss didn't respect you? Well, somebody on the Silverado science team feels that way. And when they try to put themselves in the spotlight, more than a few people get 'bent out of shape'. Check it out in next on Star Traks: Silverado!


	3. Silver Bells (2007 Christmas Special)

Star Traks: Silverado

4.3 "Silver Bells"

Originally posted December 24th, 2007

Captain Christopher Stafford sighed as he walked through the corridors of his ship. Things weren't exactly at their highest point, but in all fairness they had been much worse.  
The ship was on en route to yet another planet in the general vicinity of Starbase 45. Silverado had been spending a lot of time in that neighbourhood lately, so to speak. They had been visiting Federation member planets, collecting updated information on non-member planets and patrolling the nearby border with what had been broadly designated 'Delori Space'. Starfleet had never encountered a Delori ship, and their homeworld had been designated 'off-limits' after Silverado's unfortunate encounter there, but artefacts and other signs of previous Delori presence had been turning up on more and more planets.  
This time, they had been assigned to perform deep sensor scans of a planet designated ND342-3, to determine if it would be worthwhile for the Federation to establish a mining outpost. Shortly after that, they'd rendezvous with the USS Cletus, which would be taking Lt. Cmdr. Johnson to his next assignment. Stafford wasn't really sure what exactly had happened with the man, but Johnson was adamant that he leave the ship as soon as possible. He still showed up for his duty shifts, but other than that he refused to leave his quarters.  
Well fine. If he didn't want to be there, Stafford wasn't going to try to keep him.  
He stepped around a corner and into Main Engineering.  
THUMP!  
"AGGGHHHHH!" Stafford cried, landing hard on the carpet. As usual, he'd tripped over one of the many Ensign Nakeths that worked in engineering. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.  
"Ouch," he commented calmly.  
"It's no fun for me, either," Ensign Frit Naketh commented, stretching and cracking his back, "Wouldn't it be easier if you just watched where you were going? Uh, sir?" he hastily added.  
"It might be easier if we strapped a warning light to your head," Stafford replied, sitting up, "And guess which of us is the captain?"  
"I'll just tell Lt. Cmdr. Jeffery you're here,"  
"No, actually," Stafford said, "I was looking for you." He didn't bother getting up, as sitting on the floor was the only way he could converse with the tiny Ensign face-to-face.  
"Me?"  
"Well, I'm still working on this promotion list," Stafford explained, "And Jall and I are having trouble with some of the names. Yours is one of them,"  
"What?" Frit looked surprised, "Why? What did I do?"  
"Nothing, nothing," Stafford assured him, "It's just that, well, your name is on the list, but Jall and I realized that neither of us really know you that well. So we thought one of us would come down for a chat,"  
"I see,"  
"Uh, so," Stafford pulled a padd off of his belt and pulled up the list of questions he and Jall had come up with, "So, um, would you describe yourself as a summer or a winter?"  
"What?"  
Stafford frowned.  
"That must be one of Jall's questions," he said, scratching his head.

Fifebee, Wowryk and Sylvia were seated in Platterhead's, enjoying a light lunch. Well, Wowryk was enjoying a light lunch; Sylvia and Fifebee were just sitting there and socializing.  
"So how are the new inertial dampening subroutines working out, Sylvia?" Fifebee was asking.  
"Oh, so much better than the old ones," Sylvia replied, "I don't have to tweak them at all. Somebody at the research center was paying attention when I told them they needed to make things more backwards compatible!"  
"You mean you've been sending in suggestions?" Fifebee asked.  
"Sweety," Sylvia said, "I have the processing power of a starship and the attitude of the average mother. I sent out hundreds of suggestions every day. The amazing part is that somebody actually listened to one of them,"  
"Must be nice," Wowryk commented, sipping her tea.  
"Oh, I'm sorry, Noel," Sylvia said, patting her hand, "Is that a bit too much techno-babble for one sitting?"  
"No, no," Wowryk sighed, "It's OK. I just can't help but wish that Chris would follow some of my suggestions sometimes. You know, mandatory baptisms. Mass on Sundays. Christmas."  
"Christmas?" Sylvia started, "You mean the Christian holiday that, in the 21st Century, lead to the Great Commercial Rampage of 2023?"  
"Yes, that one," Wowryk said, "It's only one of the most important Christian celebrations, marking the birth of our Saviour, and the only reaction I can get from Chris is 'do what you want, just don't expect me to do it',"  
"Yes, that sounds like Chris," Sylvia remarked.  
"It would just be nice to have a real Christmas celebration," Wowryk went on, "At home, our family would come from all over the planet to Grandma Wowryk's little place in the Northern Agricultural Belt…we'd all visit, and eat, and dance. It was always such fun,"  
She looked at her wrist chono.  
"But enough reminiscing," she said, getting up, "I have to give Crewman Gibson a new liver."  
"Really?" Sylvia cocked her head, "But he's so young!"  
"Yes, I know," Wowryk said, "It's actually his third liver transplant in the past two years," she shook her head as she left, "It's the strangest thing,"

Stafford and Jall were sitting in Jall's office. They normally held their meetings in Stafford's ready room, but T'Parief was taking a turn in command and they really needed the larger desk. One would think that the captain would have the bigger office, but since the ready room was squished against the side of the bridge and Jall's office was deep inside the saucer, Jall actually wound up with more available space.  
"Did you meet with Ensign Dar'ugal?" Stafford asked.  
"Yeah," Jall said, "I had to call Ensign Simmons in, because I really don't get the whole charades thing,"  
"And? What did you think?"  
"I don't think we should promote him," Jall said flatly.  
"Why not?" Stafford asked, "Lieutenant Stern has been giving him very good performance reviews,"  
"Yeah, but he can't speak!" Jall snapped, "I had to get a frickin' charades translator just to have the damned meeting!"  
"But that's the way his species is!" Stafford said sharply, "We can't discriminate against him!"  
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you!" Jall shot back, "It's not discrimination, he can't speak! If he's standing behind me and something's about to fall on my head, he can't shout to warn me!"  
"No," Stafford said, "but he'd push your out of the way! He'd figure something out!"  
"Well, until I see some of that, I'm putting him on the 'No' list!" Jall said firmly.  
"Well I'm putting him on the 'Yes' list!" Stafford said, planting both hands on Jall's desk.  
"'No' list!" Jall snapped.  
"'Yes' list!" Stafford snapped back.  
"No!"  
"Yes!"  
"No!"  
"Yes!" Stafford shouted, not noticing Fifebee and Sylvia walking in behind him, "YES, YES, YES!"  
"Are we interrupting?" Sylvia asked.  
"Yes," Stafford said.  
"No," Jall said.  
They glared at each other.  
"Oookay," Fifebee said, raising an eyebrow.  
"Chris," Sylvia said, taking a seat, "Did you happen to notice what day is coming up soon? Old Earth Calendar?"  
"No," Stafford said.  
"Yes," Jall said.  
"Well, did you happen to see any of the suggestions that Dr. Wowryk put in, to help improve crew moral?"  
"Yes," Stafford said.  
"No," Jall said.  
"Well, I hope you're thinking about following a few of them. You know, it would be a really nice gesture, especially considering the effort she puts into keeping your crew healthy,"  
"Yes,"  
"No,"  
"Why 'No'?" Stafford said, turning to Jall, "You think Wowryk hasn't been doing a good job?"  
"Oh, no, she has," Jall said, grinning, "I just liked the game we were playing,"  
Stafford stared at him for a moment, then turned to Sylvia.  
"OK, so you have my attention. Wowryk's done a lot of work for the crew, and she's sent in dozens of suggestions. And you think I should follow one of them," he crossed his arms, "Which one? The forced circumcisions?" he shuddered.  
"Actually, Chris," Sylvia said, "I had something difference in mind…"  
"The re-enactment of the Crucifixion?" Stafford shrugged, "Sure, as long as Jall is willing,"  
"Hey, how come I have to die on the cross?" Jall demanded.  
"Well, it doesn't have to be on the cross," Stafford said, grinning.  
"You better be grinning because you're joking, not grinning because you're imagining it,"  
Stafford smiled.  
"You're picturing me nailed up there right now!" Jall accused, slamming his hands against the desk.  
"It's not the Crucifixion!" Sylvia snapped, pushing Stafford down into his chair, "Or anybody getting nailed! I'm talking about Christmas!"  
"Christmas?"  
"Christmas!" Sylvia said, "A time when friends and family come together to share a meal, exchange presents and enjoy each other's company!"  
"Do we have to invite my family?"  
"As opposed to inviting your friends?" Jall smirked.  
Stafford looked at him for a moment.  
"Shut up," he finally said.  
"Just maintaining our balance of negative Karma," Jall said.  
"Boys!" Sylvia snapped, "Play nice, or I'll take away your replicator privileges for a week!"  
"Can she really do that?" Stafford whispered to Jall.  
"I don't know," Jall whispered back, "But I have my heart set on this new soufflé recipe of hers tonight,"  
"And I could really go for a good steak," Stafford whispered back.  
"OK," Jall said to Sylvia, "We'll play nice."  
"What did you have in mind?" Stafford asked.  
"Me?" Sylvia raised an eyebrow, "Do you think I know anything about Christmas?"  
"Only everything in our databanks," Stafford said dryly.  
"Plus anything you can get your dainty, perfectly manicured little hands on in Memory Alpha," Jall said. He stood and came around his desk, "By the way, sweetie, how in the name of the Milky Way did you get your cuticles so-"  
"Jall!" Stafford groaned, crossing his arms.  
"Right," Jall sat again.  
"So what do you have in mind?" Stafford asked again.  
"Well, if I did all the work, it would sort of defeat the purpose, hmmm?" Sylvia said, "I think I'll leave you kids to it. See you all later,"  
"Wait for me!" Fifebee called.  
"Oh, dearie, you're a member of the crew too! Don't you think you should help out?" Sylvia gave a wave as she dematerialized, "Tootles!"  
"We can put you in charge of the Christmas Bunny!" Stafford commented, as Fifebee planted her hands on her hips, "I know how much you loves animals!"  
"Wrong holiday," Fifebee replied icily, "Oh, and did I mention, bite me?"  
"OK, OK," Stafford said, "Your job is to keep Wowryk distracted, so we can surprise her with this Christmas thingy,"  
"Acceptable," Fifebee nodded. She turned and left.  
"Sooooo," Jall said, "How exactly are we going to plan a surprise Christmas for the Wicked Bitch of the North?"  
"Simple," Stafford said, getting ready to leave Jall's office, "We call in…the Partymaster!"  
Jall frowned.  
"The who?"

"Ohhhh!" Ensign Trish Yanick squealed, jumping up and down in the middle of Stafford's ready room, "This is going to be so much fun! We can exchange gifts, and do some carolling, and decorate the ship!"  
"No ship decorating," Stafford said, "We want this to be a surprise,"  
"Oh, silly," Yanick giggled, "Who would I tell?"  
Stafford and Jall exchanged glances.  
"Everybody," the said together.  
"I'm blond," Yanick shrugged, "It's what I do,"  
"But you can handle this, right Trish?" Stafford asked.  
"Sure," Yanick said, ushering Stafford and Jall out of the ready room, "Just follow my directions and everything will be fine,"  
"Where have I heard that before?" Stafford wondered as he stepped back onto the bridge.  
"Probably from every woman you've ever slept with," Jall cracked.  
"Oh, like you would know!" Stafford shot back, "Hey wait…did I just get kicked out of my ready room?"  
"You did,"  
Stafford looked like he was going to say something, then simply walked over to his chair and sat.  
"Whatever," he sighed.

MEMORANDUM

ATTN: All USS Silverado crewmembers, with the exception of Dr. Wowryk. (It's not because I don't love you, Noel, but this is supposed to be a surprise. But you're not going to be reading this, so why am I apologizing. I dunno! Tee hee! Ugh, that sounds too blond. Pretend I said 'Hah hah!' instead, OK?)

Subject: Christmas

Hi everybody! (Waves)

So, this year, since Dr. Wowryk has worked so hard to keep us all healthy and cuz she would really, really like us to, we're going to celebrate Christmas. Now, I know a lot of you aren't Catholic…and that a lot of you aren't even human. So if you're not into the whole religion thing, just take it as a chance to have some fun with your crewmates. And if you get really offended by all this religion stuff, well, go lock yourself in your quarters for the next few days, and don't get all upset when you hear about all the fun we're gonna have! And yes, we're gonna have fun, dammit! I, Trish Yanick, have been appointed PartyMaster for this event! Fun will be had! Insert smiley-face here.

Please see the attached appendices for your assignments. (Unless you've had an appendectomy, in which case, ask one of your friends.)

Ensign Yanick, T.  
Helm Officer  
USS Silverado

MEMORANDUM ENDS

"She has got to be kidding," Lieutenant Stern said. He was seated in the security locker room, having just showered after a holodeck training mission involving the Hazardous Team, a hostage situation and a barrel of monkeys. Unfortunately, nobody had poked air holes in the barrel, resulting in the death of said monkeys, but since nobody could figure out what the monkeys had to do with the scenario anyway, he wasn't particularly concerned.  
"I think it sounds like fun," Ensign Marsden said, "I haven't done the Christmas thing since I was a little boy,"  
Ensign Dar'ugal nodded his agreement. The Barudan officer was brushing his fur, which considering he was furred from head to toe, was taking a pretty long time.  
"I take it you're going to be locking yourself in your quarters, huh, Rengs?" Stern asked, pulling out a lint brush and trying to get the long, red Barudan hairs off his uniform. (For every one he removed, it seemed two more floated over.)  
"Why?" Rengs asked. Being a Bajoran, Rengs had very strong religious beliefs, made stronger because the Bajorans actually had physical proof of their 'gods' existence.  
"Well, you know, alien religious holiday and all that,"  
"Not at all," Rengs said, "I think it's a good chance to learn more about your culture. I'm secure enough in my beliefs that I don't feel threatened by Dr. Wowryk's." He pulled his uniform tunic on over his head, "Unlike her," he muttered.  
"Well, good," Stern said, "Because we're in charge of the gift exchange."  
"Not a problem," Simmons commented, "I vote for a piñata-bomb!"  
"And we have to provide a Santa Clause," Stern added.  
The Hazardous Team exchange glances.  
"Crap!"

"Christmas tree?" Ensign Pye scratched his head, looking at the assignment the evening shift had been given, "That doesn't seem so hard. I mean, this thing is probably going to be held on the holodeck, right? So we just get Sylvia to-"  
"Not going to be that easy," Lieutenant Quintaine cut him off, "See the note there?"  
"The one Yanick added about having to build the tree from scratch?" Pye asked, "Yeah, I saw it. I was ignoring it,"  
"You do realize that to disobey Yanick is to risk the wrath of the woman responsible not only for most of our ship parties, but also for keeping Stafford in a good mood anytime we spill something on the bridge carpet?" Ensign Day asked calmly.  
"Right. So, where do we get the tree from?"

"OK, people," Stafford said, facing the senior staff (minus Wowryk), "We have a fairly easy assignment. Our mission; and we've already accepted it, so there's no point bitching, is to plan the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day parties."  
"Why two?" Jall asked.  
"Because," Yanick explained, "It's kind of a double thing. See, depending on how your family does thing, Christmas Eve might be the big party, with Christmas Day being the small party. Or the other way around. Or you might have Christmas Eve with your family, then Christmas Day with your spouse's family. Or you might have your big family fights Christmas Eve, and the family make-up on Christmas Day. Or, if it's just you and your spouse, you might have crazy love-monkey sex Christmas Eve and romantic holiday sex Christmas Day-"  
"Thank you, Trish," Stafford said dryly.  
"Is sex a part of this holiday?" Jall asked, confused, "Because I didn't sign up for that! Not that I mind, or anything, but finding a partner on such short notice-"  
"Is probably what you do best. But this is a Catholic holiday," Stafford told him, "They try to discourage sex as much as possible. Didn't you see that book Noel was handing out last Valentine's Day?"  
"Ye mean 'Sex is Evil and Will Make Yer Genitals Rot'?" Jeffery asked.  
"Yup, that one,"  
"About the party," Yanick cut back in, "It has to be something…festive. Something wintry. And something without strippers," she added, looking pointedly at Jall.  
"There goes my Christmas list," he grumbled.  
"I know just the thing…" Stafford said.

The rest of the day was a blur as crewmembers exchanged hastily assembled Christmas Wish lists and tried to prepare for their part of the celebration. A single holodeck couldn't hand the whole crew, of course, so different groups had different plans. Most of the officers would be converging on Holodeck 1 for the party planned by the senior staff, while the enlisted crewmen planned their own celebration in the lounges on Deck 12. The ship's civilian staff, being in the minority, had requested and been granted the use of the Captain's Dining Room on Deck 3 for their celebration. Things were quickly coming together, but there was a minor side effect that nobody had planned on…

"OUT OF MY WAY!" Nurse Kerry shouted, trying to elbow her way through the crowd that filled the Replicator Center on Deck 30.  
Primarily intended as a facility for fabricating replacement parts, away team supplies or other items that were too large for the standard replicators to handle, the Replicator Center was a series of rooms in Silverado's secondary hull containing replicators of various sizes, from tiny nano-tech replicators up to a massive unit the size of a small room and capable of manufacturing larger units like furniture, small computer cores and, rumour had it, cakes big enough to fit a belly-dancer in. The center also had several big display screens linked to the replicator library, so users could view the items they wished to replicate prior to spending their replicator rations on them.  
Currently, the Replicator Center was a complete zoo. Crewmen from all over the ship had swarmed the place, each carrying shopping lists with names and suggested gifts. Kerry had been waiting in line for nearly half an hour, but other crewmen kept butting in front of her. Finally, her patience had snapped.  
"OUT OF MY WAY!" she repeated, pushing past an Etendian phaser technician and Ensign Sweddlbeshid, the D'Ceti exchange officer. Sweddlbeshid gave a gurgly-sounding squeal as his squid-like tentacles flailed around, making Kerry think that the alien was getting a bit too excited about the whole holiday thing.  
"Back off, sweetie!" Ensign Bith cried, pushing back, "I'm next in line! I have to get the latest 'Tickle Me Krugos' doll before the replicator storage is empty!"  
"No, you back off, sweetie!" Kerry shot back, "I was here first!"  
"And what are you getting that's so important?"  
"I have this fantastic replicator pattern for a dress Dr. Wowryk will love! It's brand new from 'My Little Catholic'! And I'm getting Seth a new leash!"  
"You named your dog Seth?" Lieutenant Ovens asked, dragging part of a sectional sofa out of the furniture replicator.  
"No!" Kerry snapped, "Seth Shwaluk! My boyfriend!"  
"How are you going to fit that thing in the turbolift?" Bith wanted to know. Kerry took advantage of her distraction to slip her data chip into the replicator slot. Seconds later, the dress appeared on the tray. A couple of taps later and the leash joined it.  
"You bitch!" Bith cried.  
"Suck it up, sweetie!" Kerry said, blowing a kiss.  
Bith fumed, then turned and started tapping at the control console. Two replicators over, a fight had broken out over a pair of identical taffeta gowns that two crewwomen had just ordered, each claiming the other could not wear the same gown as she did. Lieutenant Stern tried to calm the ladies down, but apparently his offer to settle the matter through oil-wrestling was not welcomed, and the fight quickly encompassed him, Ensign Pye, Lieutenant Quintaine and Nurse Veeneman.

"My, what a busy day I'm having today!" Dr. Noel Wowryk commented as she ran a dermal regenerator over Lieutenant Stern's nose, "Was there a hockey game nobody told me about?"  
"Uh, yeah," Stern said, "I was playing hockey. Without my pads. And this woman's fist just happened to run into my face,"  
"Well, that will teach you to play without proper protection!" Wowryk snapped. She pushed him off the bio-bed and towards the door, "Next!"  
"Hello, Doctor," Fifebee said pleasantly, walking into Sickbay as Wowryk began working on Ensign Bith's sprained wrist, "I see you are working hard to ease the pain of the sick and the suffering, as usual,"  
Wowryk looked blankly at her for a moment.  
"I'm supposed to be EASING their pain?" she asked, dead-pan. Next to her, Ensign Bith swallowed nervously.  
"Relax, I'm kidding," Wowryk said. She ran the regenerator over Bith's wrist, then ushered her out the door.  
"What a relief!" Wowryk sighed, "I thought that would never end! What the heck happened, anyway?"  
"Escaped prisoner," Fifebee said.  
"What? But we don't have any-"  
"Come, Doctor," Fifebee said, pulling Wowryk into her office, "I am most curious about this, um, Bible book you keep mentioning. Would you perhaps be willing to explain the finer points to me?"  
Wowryk's face lit up like she'd just been told the second coming of Jesus started in five minutes.  
"Yes, of course!" she exclaimed, "One minute, let me get my costume and hand puppets, it'll make the whole thing much more enjoyable!" She hustled into one of the storage rooms and started rummaging around.  
"You will pay for this distraction, Yanick," Fifebee muttered, "You will pay for it in blood!"

"Where are we going to get a pine tree by tomorrow?" Ensign Pye wondered. It was ship's evening, and the evening shift was manning the bridge. There were still a few aches and bruises from what was becoming knows as the 'Silverado Christmas Rampage' down in the Replicator Center. No doubt Alpha shift was starting a little rampage all of their own, now that they were off-duty.  
"Spruce tree," Lieutenant Quintaine corrected.  
"No, I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be a pine,"  
"Whatever," Bith said, hoping to end yet another argument, "So what did you boys ask for for Christmas?"  
"A puppy!" Pye said happily.  
"Ugh, you really are a 5-year old under that old exterior, aren't you?"  
"A promotion," Quintaine said, "Either that, or earplugs,"  
"I asked for that new 'Vulcan Love-Slave' holo-program," Burke said.  
"Are you crazy?" Bith snapped, "You can't ask Santa for porn!"  
Burke shrugged.  
"It's my passion," he said.  
"That still doesn't answer the question," Pye cut back in, "Where do we get a Christmas tree by tomorrow? Burke picked up the decorations at the Replicator Center-"  
"And I had the broken leg to prove it,"  
"-but we still need the tree!"  
"Hmmm," Quintaine stood, then walked over to Burke's science station, "Any M-Class planets nearby?"  
Burke tapped at his panel.  
"No planets, no. But there's a gas-giant with an M-Class moon that's about an hour off our course,"  
"Sounds good," Quintaine said. He tapped his comm-badge, "Quintaine to Stafford,"  
"Stafford here. Is this about the tree?" There was the sound of multiple voices shouting in the background, one of which sounded like Commander Jall screaming at everybody to stop bumping into the fondue pot he'd just replicated.  
"Yes sir." Quintaine affirmed.  
"Just do it, then," there was a crash, then the sound of Lt. Cmdr. Jeffery starting a fresh string of Scottish profanity, "Stafford out!"  
"Mr. Pye," Quintaine said, taking the command chair again, "Alter course,"  
"Aye sir. Don't you just love the holidays?"

The next day…

"Steven? Miss Horton? Are we set?" Stafford asked.  
"Completely," Horton said before Steven could get a word in, "My fabulous buffet is ready, the delightful little snackie-things are laid out and I have several of my highly-skilled Guinanco waiters on hand to provide any kind of food or holiday advice you might desire,"  
"Er, thanks," Stafford smiled weakly as the British woman resumed working.  
He'd selected the ski-resort holo-program for the occasion. The slopes were freshly groomed, the holographic sky was clear and the inside of the ski-lodge was toasty warm. A fire crackled in the fireplace, Horton's buffet was giving off some really good smells and Steven was standing behind the bar with his lounge staff.  
"We're here!"  
Stafford spun around to see Pye, Day and Quintaine struggling to squeeze a bushy blue tree through the holodeck doors. Burke and Bith carried boxes of ornaments.  
"You're late!" Stafford snapped, "The party starts in half an hour!"  
"You try fitting this thing in a runabout!" Pye shot back, "Uh, sir,"  
"Just hurry up!"  
Pye and Day managed to get the tree standing, while Bith strapped on a pair of hover-boots and started hanging lights off various branches. Soon all five officers were falling all over each other as they tried to achieve the perfect balance of lights, tinsel and ornaments.  
"Here, I found it!" Lieutenant Sage cried, rushing through the holodeck doors.  
"Hey, is that my Silverado model?" Stafford snapped, pointing at the model ship Sage was carrying.  
"We figured you wouldn't mind if we borrowed it," Sage said. He handed the model to Bith. She prompted placed it on the tip of the tree.  
They all stood back to admire their handiwork. The strings of tinsel were strung vertically, giving an almost Maypole-like look to the tree. Lights were arranged in random clumps, (according to Bith, each clump was its own galaxy) and the warp nacelles on Stafford's model ship had been altered so they pulsed green and red instead of blue.  
"Is that the way a Christmas tree is supposed to look?" Day asked.  
"I don't think so," Stafford said slowly, "At least, I've never seen one with an Ambassador-class starship on top,"  
"It adds character," Pye chirped.  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Stafford sighed, "A Christmas tree doesn't need our kind of character,"

The holodeck quickly filled with crew members. Horton's buffet was quickly dug into, the Guinanco waiters replacing items as quickly as they ran out. The pile of Christmas gifts under the tree quickly grew to mountainous proportions, though it quickly became apparent that nobody on the ship knew how to properly wrap a Christmas present. (Jeffery had just stuffed his gift in an unused section of plasma conduit.)  
Finally, the holodeck doors opened, revealing Sylvia and Fifebee as they guided a blindfolded Dr. Wowryk into the room.  
"This better not be another surprise like last time," Wowryk said, "I specifically said no more holographic dates!"  
"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" everybody shouted as Sylvia pulled off Wowryk's blindfold. The doctor's eyes widened as she took in the sight of nearly 100 officers crammed into the ski lodge, the crackling fire, the badly decorated tree listing slightly to the left and the piles of food stacked on the tables.  
"WAAAAHHHHHHH!" she cried.

"Wow," Stafford commented, watching as Wowryk hugged yet another junior officer.  
"Yeah," Jall said, raising an eyebrown, "Wow,"  
"That woman has…hugging power," Stafford said.  
"She does," Jall agreed.  
They watched as Wowryk noticed a nativity scene that had been placed in one corner, then promptly broke down in tears again.  
"Who would've thought that under that coarse, man-hating exterior," Stafford said.  
"Under the bitterness and resentment," Jall added.  
"Frigid, icy layers of black heartedness," Stafford went on.  
"And past the testicles," Jall continued.  
"Noel Wowryk actually has-"  
"She's actually got-"  
The two of them looked at each other.  
"Feelings!?"

"I can't believe how much trouble you all went to for me!" Wowryk said, holding Yanick in a death-grip hug.  
"It wasn't just for you," Yanick squeaked, "But, y'know, it was fun. We're just missing something…"  
The holodeck doors hissed open again. A tall, broad figure walked in. He wore a red, old-style Starfleet uniform, to which a puffy white lining had been attached. A red and white hat was perched on his head and a white beard had been glued to the lower half of his face.  
"Ho, ho, ho," T'Parief rumbled, sounding either annoyed or slightly constipated.  
Yanick and Wowryk exchanged a look, then broke out laughing.

"Your name will be called," T'Parief announced, "You will come and sit on Santa's knee and receive your gift. You will also," he looked menacingly around the room, "bring Santa a drink,"  
"I thought you told the Hazardous Team to find somebody jolly," Stafford whispered to Yanick.  
"He's jolly," Yanick shrugged, "Sometimes,"  
Ensign Pye was first. He looked very, very uncomfortable as he approached T'Parief then sat on the huge alien's knee.  
"Uh, hi," he said. T'Parief just growled, then handed him a gift wrapped in what looked like toilet paper. Pye quickly unwrapped it.  
"A holo-puppy!" he cried out, excitedly holding up the miniature holo-projector, "thanks, Burke!"  
"I just better get my porno," Burke grumbled.  
As the various officers went up and sat on Santa's knee (and as Santa got progressively drunker) nobody thought to take a closer look at the base of the Christmas tree. Why would they, with all the gifts around to distract them? If they had, they might have noticed that the tree, which the evening shift had picked up on an alien planet and which had not gone through a bio-filter, was growing new roots at an alarming rate. And those roots, through pure coincidence, were growing right into the holodeck control circuits, scrambling program functions and fragmenting input and output data. Sylvia, of course, was instantly aware of the minor holodeck problems, but she simply compensated. She didn't bother informing Jeffey, the boy was having fun and the problem really could wait until Boxing Day. (Uh, that's the day after Christmas. In Canada, anyway. I don't know if the Americans or the rest of you have Boxing Day.)  
Unknown to Sylvia, she wasn't the only intelligence playing in the game anymore. Deep in the computer core, a forgotten evil lurked. It had survived attempted deletion, database purges and even Silverado's untimely crash on the Delori homeworld. But now it awoke, and started testing the waters…

"Do I really have to sit on your knee?" Stafford asked as he approached T'Parief and handed him a Vodka Sprite.  
"Yes," T'Parief said calmly. His head was starting to loll slightly due to the large number of tequila shots he'd been given.  
Looking very uncomfortable, Stafford sat on the larger alien's knee and was presented with his gift.  
"Huh, looks like Jeffery drew my name," he said, reading from the card. He pried open one end of the plasma conduit Jeffery used for wrapping and withdrew a heavy glass bottle, "Read Canadian vodka!" Stafford said, impressed, "Thanks, Simon!"  
"Don't mention it," Jeffery said, "Especially to Noel,"  
Hopping off 'Santa's' lap, Stafford joined Jeffery and Yanick near the buffet.  
"Well, it looks like Christmas Eve is a success," he said, "Everybody is fairly happy, Wowryk thinks we're all wonderful-"  
"Which'll last about an hour," Jeffery predicted.  
"And Horton even made some cute little Jack-O-Latern cookies," Stafford had picked a cookie up off the table and was in the process of biting into it, "Mmmmm…."  
"Huh," Yanick frowned, looking at the cookies, "I guess Horton got her holidays a bit confused,"

Wowryk had slipped away from the party in the main area of the ski lodge and had gone to one of the hotel-like rooms upstairs to collect herself. It wasn't like her to become so emotional, at least not in a warm and fuzzy way, but she had to admit she was truly touched that Stafford and Yanick had arranged for a Christmas celebration, even if they had focused a bit too much on the commercialized, greedy side of things. Yanick had given her an adorable stuffed bear, and though its current appearance really wasn't appropriate, Wowryk was sure once she replaced the little vest and collar it was wearing with a robe and crucifix it would be a welcome addition to her quarters.  
Wowryk jumped as a low groan sounded through the room. Probably something from the party, she realized. But then she noticed that the room was quiet. Very quiet. There was no sound of music, no shouting, no drunken banter.  
The groan came again, this time the various knick-knacks on the dresser rattled as the room shook.  
"Is somebody there?"  
Again, the groan.  
"Who is it?" Wowryk asked, clutching the stuffed bear.  
The mirror in the room blurred for a moment, the colours in the reflected image blurring, swirling then re-solidifying.  
"Sylvia?" Wowryk called, "What's going on?"  
Nothing.  
A bottle of aftershave that had been sitting on the dresser (gotta admire the holo-programmer's attention to detail) abruptly tipped over and spilled, the fluid running across the surface. As Wowryk watched, lines began forming in the spilled liquid, almost as though somebody was running a finger through it.  
SHE CAN"T HEAR YOU, BABES. NONE OF THEM CAN!  
"DEMON!" Wowryk shouted, bolting for the door. She tugged on the handle, but the door refused to budge.  
"Show yourself, child of darkness!" she cried, still clutching the bear, "I'll match the power of God against your Satanic powers anyday!"  
The mirror blurred again. This time, Wowryk could almost make out a face in the distorted image. It was ghostly, pale, with a shock of white hair.  
"Annnnytime," it seemed to breathe.

"Where did everybody go?" Yanick demanded. The gift exchange was finished, T'Parief was passed out on the floor and the fire in the fireplace was burning down to embers.  
"They hit the slopes," Nurse Kerry explain, swaying slightly from the drink, "About half an hour ago,"  
"The slopes?" Yanick frowned, "It's dark out! And it's night! What the hell would they be doing?"  
"Well," Kerry said, "Stafford and Jeffery are snowboarding, Fifebee and Grant are skiing, and I think Jall is using those little trick skis…snow blades?"  
"What about Noel?" Yanick asked, "I have this adorable little robe and crucifix for that bear I gave her, but I haven't seen her around,"  
Kerry shrugged.  
"I don't know," she said, "Why don't you head out there and check?"

"WHHHEEEEEEE!" Stafford cried as he ploughed into a snow bank, powdery whiteness flying up in the air all around him. He managed to keep his balance as he cleared the bank, unlike Jeffery who was now rolling down the slope in an undignified heap. There was another whoop as Jall cleared the bank, his short little snowblades giving him far more manoeuvrability than the heavy boards Stafford and Jeffery were using. Fifebee and Grant had skirted around the bank; apparently only people with increased blood-synthohol levels thought going right through was a good idea. Jeffery had been about to change the holodeck settings to 'Daytime' mode, when Stafford had remembered something called 'night-skiing'. So instead, they'd programmed in a bunch of flood lights that illuminated the slopes just enough for them to see where they were going, but not so much as to overpower the beauty of the mountain at night.  
"Nice move, Simon," Stafford laughed, coming to a stop next to Jeffery's tangled form.  
"Ah think I broke somethin'," Jeffery groaned.  
"Your leg?"  
"Me pride!"  
"Hey, somebody's doing a bit of hot-dogging," Jall pointed out, steadying himself on Stafford's shoulder, much to the captain's discomfort.  
Further up the hill, somebody on skis was coming down at an extremely rapid rate, dodging nimbly around trees and other skiing crewmembers. They watched in awe as the mystery skiing hit a jump, flying up into the air in a graceful spin and landing perfectly on the slope. They skier was getting close enough now that they could recognize Yanick's blond hair trailing behind her like a comet's tail. Stafford called to her, and she skidded to a stop.  
"Wow, Trish!" he cried, dragging himself and his board over, "That's the hottest bit of trick skiing I've seen in ages!"  
"Yeah!" Jall was nodding in agreement, "I didn't know you could do that?"  
"Do what?" Yanick asked, pulling her goggles off her face, "My goggles were totally fogged up! I couldn't even see where I was going!"  
"Oh,"  
"Have any of you seen Noel anywhere?" she asked. Everybody shook their heads.  
"Why don't you just ask Sylvia?" Jeffery inquired.  
"Oh yeah," Yanick giggled, "D'uh! Sylvia!"  
There was no answer.  
"Sylvia?" Stafford tried, "Are you there?"  
Nothing.  
"Sylvia! I'm spilling red white on the beige carpet!" Jall shouted.  
Still no answer.  
The officers exchanged glances.  
"Uh-oh," Stafford muttered.

"What do you mean you've lost contact with them?" Ensign Pysternzyks demanded, "They are on Holodeck One!"  
"Yes, I know that," Sylvia said, her computer-generated face displayed on the Port Auxiliary console's large display screen, "But I can't get any comm channels into the holodeck, and the command pathways aren't responding!  
"Mr. Jeffery probably spilled Scotch on the control interface again," Ensign Frit Naketh called from the Engineering station.  
The bridge was currently being manned by those crewmembers who had no interest in celebrating Christmas. They were, by far, the minority. Starfleet, by its very definition of an exploration and discovery body, tended to attract individuals who were eager to experience new cultures. Still, Pysternzyks, Naketh and a few others had offered to man the duty stations while the rest of the crew celebrated.  
"I don't think so!" Sylvia said, "The holodeck doors have been sealed, and the transporters refuse to lock onto anybody in the holodeck! I tell you, something's wrong!"  
"Perhaps somebody gift-wrapped an honourable death?" Pysterzyks pondered, "A cobalt-based bomb would do nicely, since you human cowards don't have the courage for a proper ritual suicide!"  
"Ohhhh!" Sylvia frowned, "If you don't take me seriously, I'll find somebody who will!"  
"Yes, yes," Pysternzyks waved her away as her image vanished from the screen, "Now then,  
where did I put my practice daggers?"

"You let me out of here this instant!" Wowryk snapped, "I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I will not be held captive this way!"  
The image in the mirror, which had been growing more and more distinct with each passing minute, laughed at her again.  
"And stop that! I will not be laughed at, either!" Wowryk stomped her foot, "What do you want!"  
The face in the mirror vanished, only to be replaced with a star chart. Each solar system was labelled with small, glowing letters: Sol, Rigel, 40 Eridani…  
"Betalgeuse?" Wowryk frowned, looking carefully as that particular star system started to pulse, "Now where have I heard that before?"  
She thought hard for a moment.  
"Wait a minute!" she exclaimed, "How could I forget! That name sounds just like 'Beetlejuice', which is one of the most disgusting things I've ever heard of! That also just happens to be the name of that crazy Hallowe'en holo-character that we deleted after it ruined our haunted house!"  
The star map disappeared, the ghostly figure re-appearing. He looked very angry, almost like he was shouting at Wowryk.  
"I remember how this works!" Wowryk laughed, "You're totally powerless! You can't do much of anything unless I say your name three times! Well, I assure you, I'm not stupid enough to say 'Beetlejuice' a third-"  
There was a crash of thunder and the sound of loud, cackling laughter as the face in the mirror gave a triumphant smile and vanished.  
"Oops," Wowryk gulped.

Stafford, Jall, Yanick and Jeffery were skiing, boarding or snow-blading back to the ski-lodge at top speed. Fifebee had attempted to transfer her program directly to the lodge, but for some reason that had caused her program to completely freeze. In fact, it looked like she was still standing about half a mile of the slope. Well, it looked like half a mile, thanks to the holodeck's imaging systems and inertial fields. In reality, they were probably only about 2 feet away from her. All four of them had shrugged off the effects of the synthohol, although for some reason that had led to a strong decline in Stafford's snowboarding abilities.  
"We're barely a mile away now," Jeffery shouted, his voice barely audible over the hiss of the snow as they flew over it.  
They came around the side of the mountain and only the home stretch, a mile-long stretch of pristine slope that led right to the lodge. The lights were still on and smoke curled from the chimney. The whole thing looked very inviting, and thoughts of hot chocolate were already stirring in all four officer's heads. (The holodeck was being just a bit too efficient at simulating wind chill.)  
There was a flash of light from the lodge, nearly blinding them. Something, it looked like a ripple, spread out in all directions like a shockwave, throwing all four of them onto their backs even as loud, raucous laughter filled the air.  
Stafford and Jeffery stopped quickly, their boards sending sprays of snow into their faces as they skidded to a stop, their butts protesting as they were dragged across the snow. Yanick's skis had been knocked off her feet, coming to a stop almost immediately, unlike Yanick. Only Jall had managed to regain his footing, but the brief skid on his backside had sent him off course towards a very large tree. Jeffery and Stafford winced as he crashed right into it. They quickly regained their feet and boarded down to where Yanick was just climbing back up to her skis. Jall joined them, limping.  
"Are you OK?" Stafford asked the two of them.  
"My butt hurts," Yanick complained.  
"My everything hurts," Jall added.  
The laughter came again, this time stronger and louder than before.  
"There's something familiar about that laugh," Jeffery said.  
The laughter immediately stopped.  
"Come on," Stafford said, "Let's get back to the lodge,"

Beetlejuice stopped laughing the instant the engineer made his comment. His entire plan depended on the flesh-bags staying ignorant of his nature as long as possible. He had done what he could to insinuate himself into the holodeck control systems, cutting off computer control and blocking the comm systems, but he couldn't change the nature of who and what he was. And part of that nature included being all but banished from the living world if his name was said aloud three times.  
He was lurking behind a tree, watching as the four Silverado officers took off again for the lodge. He would have to slow them down, of course, if his plan was to work. He'd taken care of the other crewmembers further up the slops by changing the paths of the slopes, making it all but impossible for them to make their way down. But he didn't want to block these four. He needed at least one of them to make it through.  
Eventually.  
He gaze rested on a groomer, one of the machines used in the real world to ensure good skiing conditions and included in the holoprogram to ensure authenticity.  
Yes. That would work just perfectly.

Wowryk was not pleased.  
She'd been bound and gagged before that abominable creature had left, vanishing into thin air with a snap. She knew exactly how to get rid of that disgusting thing, but with her mouth gagged, she just couldn't do it.  
He'd barely been gone two minutes before he reappeared.  
"Well, that should take care of your little friends for a while," he laughed, "Now, we can get down to business!"  
Wowryk's eyes widened as she started shouting, the gag muffling her words.  
"What do I want, you ask?" Beetlejuice laughed, "Why, I want what any Ghost with the Most would want! A nice, sweet little lady to clean my crypt and keep the snakes in my hair nice and slimy,"  
Wowryk gagged.  
"Yeah, I thought you'd say that. The living never seem to want to marry the dead,"  
Wowryk turned green.  
"I don't know why, I'm a nice guy!" he came closer, giving Wowryk a strong whiff of truly putrid body odour.  
"Anyway, I have this totally great idea!" he went on, "See, I've been thinking about you ever since we met, that beautiful Hallowe'en night so long ago. And so I've been…tinkering,"  
He snapped his fingers, and an almost perfect replica of Wowryk appeared next to him. Her skin was paler, almost a grey, and her eyes were milky…almost as though she were…dead?  
"What do you think? Beetlejuice laughed, "A little 'Ghostess with the Mostess'?"  
Wowryk screamed.  
"Oh, that's no way to treat my gal!" Beetlejuice said, hands on hips, "She's twice the woman you are! At least, she will be, once I cut you down to size. You can't be dead and alive at the same time, right? There's just this one little problem…I can't kill anybody. I don't know why, probably something to do with this little technological treasure-room you people have here. But I can't. So I have to get somebody else to kill you for me. And to do that, we're going to need a bit of makeup…"

It all happened so suddenly.  
Stafford, Jall, Jeffery and Yanick were making their way down the hill, completely unopposed. The slope entered a forested area, which they knew from past skiing experience would open up into the final stretch leading down to the lodge and the lifts. But the instant they entered the narrow path, there was a deep grumbling behind them. Only Jall, who up until then had been lagging behind on his slower snow-blades, looked back to see what it was. It was a groomer, the heavy machine's massive snow-grooming treads grinding the smallest bump on the ground down to perfect flatness.  
"AHHHHH!"  
Jall propelled himself forward, almost like he was suddenly in a speed-skating competition.  
"What's his problem?" Jeffery asked as the slim officer rocketed forward.  
He and Stafford looked back and saw the machine gaining on them.  
"AHHHHH!"  
They tried to pick up speed. Yanick and Jall were ahead of them already, as it was much easier to go flat out on skis than on snowboards. The slightest misbalance on a board could cause one edge to catch on the snowy ground, sending the boarder flat on his face or ass, depending on the edge caught.  
Jeffery didn't care. While Stafford tried to keep himself balanced on an edge, Jeffery just aimed the front of his board downhill and let it rip. He'd almost caught up to Jall when an innocent-looking outcropping of ice caught his rear edge, slamming him to the ground with an impact that would have cracked his skull if the safety protocols had been inactive. As it was, he was very dazed.  
"Simon!" Stafford shouted. He tried to put on the breaks, but he'd hit an icy patch and simply skidded. Up ahead, two more groomers had come around the bend, working their way up the slopes. Yanick and Jall veered wildly, trying to evade the machines. Jall vanished into the trees, Yanick managed to evade the groomer and continued down the slope.  
Stafford tried to haul himself back up the hill to where Jeffery was sprawled out, the groomer closing in rapidly.  
Just seconds before the machine would have crushed Jeffery's skull like a tin can, two figures on skis came racing down the slope. They each took an arm and hauled, Jeffery to his feet. With inhuman strength, they lifted him up and took off down the hill, neatly avoiding the lower two groomers. One of them waved for Stafford to follow. Climbing to his feet, Stafford obeyed.

After they had cleared the groomers, they found their way unopposed. It took only a few more minutes for them to reach the ski lodge. In the main level of the lodge, the Christmas tree still stood, 'Santa' was still passed out on the floor (along with a few others) and the entire room was littered with wrapping paper and empty packaging. Yanick immediately began rummaging through the debris around T'Parief.  
"That was good timing back there," Stafford said to their two rescuers, who still hadn't removed their goggles, "I don't know how you managed to lift Jeffery, but-"  
Sylvia and Fifebee removed their goggles.  
"Oh," Stafford finished, their identities no longer a mystery, "I guess that explains it."  
"Hey, wait," Jall said, "If you two are here, does that mean the holodeck is fixed now? Where's Wowryk?"  
"It's not fixed," Sylvia sighed, "I rebooted Fifebee's program when I noticed that she'd frozen up-"  
"And she has made many jokes about my recommended operating temperature because of it," Fifebee commented.  
"-and because I'd lost communications and control pathways to the holodeck," Sylvia finished.  
"So, yer still not controlling the holodeck?" Jeffery asked, "That's strange. Ah wonder if one of the optical data pathways is stuck in an algorithmic feedback loop?"  
"So how do we get out of the holodeck?" Yanick wondered, ignoring the techno-babble.  
"Crewman Shwaluk is attempting to shut down power," Sylvia said, "Until then, it is all Fifebee and I can do to project ourselves in here!"  
"Shwaluk?" Jall groaned, "We're screwed!"  
"Yes, unfortunately, anybody who might actually have a chance of succeeding is trapped in the holodeck or passed out,"  
"First things first," Stafford decided, "We need to find Noel!"  
"Found her," Yanick pointed, "Two of her, actually,"  
"What the…"  
Everybody turned to face the wide stairway leading to the upper level of the lodge. Standing there, dressed in tattered white dresses, their wrists bound and mouths gagged, were two identical Noel Wowryk's. Both were pale as death, their eyes blackened and their hair in filthy tatters. Standing behind them was a very familiar figure.  
"It's B-" Fifebee started speaking, but with a snap of his fingers, Beetlejuice conjured a heavy steel plate that slammed into place over her mouth. Next to her, Sylvia was receiving similar treatment.  
"It's…it's…damn!" Jall snapped his fingers, "What's that guy's name!"  
"And how do we get rid of him again?" Stafford wondered. Sylvia and Fifebee were trying to shout at the four organic officers, but because they were constrained by the holodeck, Beetlejuice was able to work his tricks on them.  
"Found it!" Yanick exclaimed. She was holding up the phaser she'd given T'Parief for Christmas, "Do you need me to shoot somebody!"  
"Yes!" Beetlejuice said.  
"NO!" Stafford shouted, "No shooting! It doesn't do anything against holograms!"  
"Well, not against me, anyway," Beetlejuice grinned, "But, you see, I have this little problem that maybe you can help me out with," he vanished, reappearing next to Stafford, "See, I want to marry this here cutie, but, y'know, the dead version won't be any fun while the live version is still around. And the dead version won't really be dead unless somebody kills her. And since those darned safety things of yours stop me from killing people, well, I need you to do it for me,"  
"So, wait," Yanick wondered, "You want us to kill Noel, so you can marry a dead, holographic version of her,"  
"Yup,"  
Yanick looked over at Stafford.  
"I think our holodeck is broken," she said.  
"No shit," Stafford muttered. He thought for a moment. "OK. I'll do it,"  
"WHAT?" Jall and Yanick demanded as Stafford grabbed the phaser.  
"Just let me ask her a couple of questions, first. Y'know, kind of a goodbye thing."  
"Well," Beetlejuice scratched his head, leaving a pile of dandruff on the floor, "OK. But they'll have to be yes or no questions, since I gagged her and all,"  
"OK," Stafford walked over and stood in front of the two identical women. There was really no way to tell which one was the real Noel Wowryk. Not from looking, anyway.  
"Noel, nod yes if you're the real Noel Wowryk,"  
Both women nodded.  
"Predictable," Jall muttered.  
"Is Catholicism the best thing since sliced bread?" Stafford asked.  
Both nodded again.  
He pointed his phaser at the Wowryk on the left.  
"Should I shoot you?"  
Both shook their heads.  
He pointed his phaser at the Wowryk on the right.  
"Should I shoot you?"  
The Wowryk on the right shook her head. The Wowryk on the left nodded.  
Stafford fired at the Wowryk on the left. She fizzled in and out of existence as the phaser interfered with the holo-projectors. Stafford leapt for the Wowryk on the right, pulling her to the floor and pulling out her gag.  
"BEETLEJUICE!" Wowryk screamed, "BEETLEJUICE! BEETLEJUICE!"  
"Awww crap!" Beetlejuice shouted. There was a flash of light, the a swirling vortex appeared behind him. Within seconds, he'd been sucked away into nothingness.  
The holographic Wowryk, the plates on Sylvia and Fifebee's mouths and the pile of dandruff all vanished. Sylvia's eyes flickered for almost a full minute.  
"I have holodeck control again," she said.  
"Good!" Stafford said, "Delete the Beetlejuice character, PROPERLY this time, and for the love of God, END PROGRAM!"

Christmas Day:

"More turkey?" Jall offered, holding the turkey platter in front of Stafford.  
"Urp!" Stafford answered.  
"That means 'no'," Yanick giggled.  
"No, it means 'yes'!" Sylvia corrected.  
"It means," Stafford said, "I'm full. But I want more turkey anyway!"  
"Good!" Sylvia said, "Do you know how much trouble Yanick went to in order to prepare this feast!"  
"It was tough!" Yanick said, "I had to turn on the replicator and everything!"  
The senior staff was gathered in the conference lounge for their Christmas dinner. Different shifts and sections, such as the evening shift, the Hazardous Team or the Alpha-shift engineering team, were having their own Christmas dinners, to better build teamwork or moral or some other silly thing Yanick had insisted on. After eating, the senior officers were expected to go spend time with their respective staffs. Until then, it was time to gorge.  
"So tell me," Wowryk said, eating daintily off her plate, "How did you know which of us was the real Wowryk?"  
"Easy," Stafford said, "The real Noel Wowryk knows that killing breaks one of the Ten Commandments. She wouldn't want me to kill anything, even a hologram. Torture, maybe," he grinned, nodding towards Jall, who simply rolled his eyes, "but never kill. The holographic Wowryk, on the other hand, would be encouraging me to do whatever Beetlejuice said,"  
"It was still a risk!" Yanick said, "You could have shot the read Noel!"  
"Yeah," Stafford shrugged, "And what a pity that would be!"  
He ducked as Wowryk chucked a bowl of stuffing at his head.  
"The phaser was on stun!" Stafford protested, peaking up over the table just in time to catch a glob of mashed potatoes right between the eyes.  
"There's the Wowryk we remember," Yanick said fondly.  
"And that's one gift we can never exchange," Jall quipped.

End.

OK, now that the holidays are finished with, we'll return you to your regularly scheduled Silverado…


	4. Backslide

Star Traks: Silverado

4.4 "Backslide"

Captain's Log, Stardate 58786.4

"Following the successful completion of our mission to ND342-3 and assorted holiday chaos, we've been recalled to Starbase 45. Not sure why exactly, but since we don't need supplies, repairs, or replacement of injured/killed personnel, I can only assume it's not a very good thing."  
"On a related note, we've rendezvoused with the USS Cletus to transfer Lt Cmdr Johnson off the ship. We don't have a replacement for him yet, but I'm sure I'll come up with something."

"That's a really funny looking ship," Yanick commented, looking out the viewport.  
"The Akula-class is somewhat out-dated," Fifebee said to her, sounding again like a sentient encyclopedia, "However it does remain an excellent choice for missions where speed and maneuverability are paramount. Still, there are very few still on active duty, as the Akula-class has been replaced by newer scout ships, such as the Nova-class."  
"My ship is bigger," Stafford said, arms crossed, as he stared out the viewport at the other ship.  
They'd gathered to give Johnson a somewhat half-hearted farewell. Johnson had been polite, of course, but everybody (except Yanick) had been fully aware that he was eager to get off the ship. Stafford still wasn't really sure what Johnson's problem had been. Hmmm. Maybe he should have asked the guy to fill out one of those 'How Am I Captaining?' questionnaires?  
Nawww.  
The Cletus smoothly detached from Silverado's starboard airlock. The ship was tiny; a scaled-down Constitution-class saucer, refit-style of course, made up the main body of the ship. At the trailing edge of the saucer two support struts supported warp nacelles, one above and one below the saucer. The Akula-class was clearly of the same generation as the larger, four-nacelle Constellation-class, but the Akula was much smaller and had nacelles in the standard vertical orientation, as opposed to the ones on the Constellation class, which had been rotated 90 degrees on their long axis.  
Oh, for crying out loud, if you REALLY want to know what an Akula-class ship looks like, go play the Star Trek: Legacy - Ultimate Universe mod. I have better things to write about than some crappy scout ship! (In the un-modded version, it's called an Apollo-class refit. Go fig.)  
The Cletus spun around, far faster than Silverado could have, then vanished into warp. Stafford, Jall, Yanick and Fifebee turned away from the viewport, walked through the airlock antechamber and back into the main corridors of the ship.  
"So," Jall asked, "Any idea who we're going to get to replace him?"  
"Not really," Stafford shrugged, "I guess we'll just have to find somebody else to promote,"  
"Captain Stafford! Captain Stafford!" An out-of-breath sounding voice called from down the corridor.  
"Yes?" Stafford turned, "Pye? What the hell are you doing out of bed? You're not on duty for another 5 hours!"  
"Yeah, mister!" Yanick put on her best parenting look, "If this keeps up, you'll be going to bed without supper!"  
"I heard…you need…operation…" Pye panted.  
"Uh," Stafford swallowed and looked around nervously, "If this is about the Tummy-Tuck I asked Wowryk about, she convinced me to just go to the gym-"  
"No!" Pye gasped, "Operations…Officer,"  
"Oh, yeah," Stafford nodded, then resumed walking, "If you're interested, talk to Jall here. Gotta warn you though, moving from helm to operations at this point in your career probably isn't a good move,"  
"Not me!" Pye said, having recovered some breath, "Day!"  
"Ensign Day?" Jall cocked a hip, "The cutie on the night shift?"  
"Jall!" Stafford snapped, "Do you mind?"  
"Chris!" Yanick put her hands on hips, "Let him express himself!"  
"Yanick!" Fifebee declared. Everybody ignored her.  
"Commander," Stafford looked furtively at Pye, then lowered his voice, "What did we agree about you and that kind of...stuff?'  
"Oh, you mean like me checking out guys, or saying gay-sounding stuff when you're around?" Jall asked, looking innocent.  
"Yes!" Stafford growled, "What did we agree?"  
"That it makes you very uncomfortable, and that you'd really appreciate it if I kept my personal life far away from you," Jall droned, rolling his eyes.  
"So?" Stafford asked, gesturing.  
"We agreed that you wanted me to stop," Jall said, a glint of his old mischievous self showing, "We didn't agree that I actually would stop."  
He turned and started walking away, as Stafford's face turned beet red.  
"And I think Day's a great choice," Jall called back over his shoulder.  
Pye looked at Stafford hopefully.  
"I'll think about it," Stafford said, "Now go to bed! And no staying up to watch TV!"  
"If you'll excuse me," Fifebee said, turning to leave, "I must check on an experiment in one of the science labs,"  
Yanick and Stafford stood alone in the corridor for a moment, Stafford's hands still clenched into fists.  
"That first officer of mine is going to drive me insane," Stafford growled.  
"I think it's cute," Yanick said, "The way you bitch at each other…it's almost like you're married or something."  
"Please, Trish," Stafford said, his face turning white as a sheet, "Please don't say things like that,"  
"So, does that mean I stop saying things like that," Yanick put a perplexed look on her face, "Or that we agree that I should stop, but then I go on and do it anyway?"  
"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side!" Stafford said.  
"Oh, silly," Yanick giggled, punching him on the arm, "Are we still on for tonight?"  
"Yeah," Stafford nodded, "Your quarters, 1900 hours,"  
"Goody!"

Jall stepped into his office, feeling again the sense that he really shouldn't be there.  
He didn't know what it was. Every time he stepped into the first officer's office he felt a brief chill, followed by the sensation that he'd gone somewhere he really shouldn't be going. (He'd felt a similar sensation on his first trip to San Francisco). Could it be a deep-set fear of Noonan? This had been his office after all. Naw, Noonan was a good guy, in Jall's opinion. Strange, but good. Of course, Noonan had been VERY strange. And there had been rumours that he could…do things. Could he have left some kind of psychic echo?  
Nawww.  
All of Noonan's things had been shipped back to Earth, leaving the room somewhat barren. As much as Jall disliked agreeing with Stafford on principle, it was a good idea for him to keep his personal life out of his work, especially considering how many officers and crewmembers would be coming through the office for meetings, evaluations and so forth.  
Jall settled into his chair, trying to remember just why exactly he'd come to his office in the first place.  
BE-DEEP!  
"Jall here,"  
"Commander," it was T'Parief's voice, sounding as though it was painfully to even say the word, "We have a communication coming for you from Earth,"  
"And they didn't hang up when they saw your face?" Jall quipped, unable to help himself, "I thought that was why we put Yanick on communications?"  
"I'm sure witnessing a live evisceration would convince them they do not wish to speak with you," T'Parief said, "Or perhaps I could play the recording of you dancing on the tabletops last New Years Eve?"  
"Just put them through," Jall said.  
Noonan's face appeared on the screen.  
"I have already seen that video," Noonan said, smiling gently, "Your rhythm was excellent; however your singing voice lacks, well, everything a singing voice should have,"  
"Uh…hi…" Jall said slowly, "I was just thinking about you,"  
"You don't say," Noonan said, a knowing look in his eye, "What an amazing…coincidence,"  
"Sure," Jall said. He didn't know what to say! When was the last time he and Noonan had an actual conversation? Had they even spoken when Noonan was first officer? Why would he be calling now?"  
"You're probably wondering just why I'm contacting you," Noonan said, the amused look still present, "Considering how rarely we really spoke when I was aboard ship."  
"Oh….no?" Jall said, "I was just thinking about…how well decorated your apartment looks.  
Noonan looked over his shoulder for a moment, then back at the screen.  
"Frankly, Commander, I'm calling to warn you," Noonan said, his expression suddenly becoming serious.  
"W-warn me?" Jall squeaked. If anybody else had called, he would have laughed it off, but something about Noonan…well, he was suddenly scared out of his wits.  
"Nothing that serious," Noonan said quickly, "However, as I'm sure you've guessed, I've found myself with quite a bit of spare time. I've been keeping a close eye on developments here on Earth, specifically anything that might relate to Operation Salvage or Silverado,"  
"Still feeling a bit attached to the old girl?"  
"Of course," Noonan said frankly, "I greatly enjoyed my time aboard her,"  
Jall resisted the urge to make a smart-ass remark.  
"You must be aware that the Federation will soon hold Presidential elections," Noonan went on, "And that both candidates have their campaigns in full force,"  
"I saw something about that in the news," Jall shrugged, "I don't really care; I don't vote,"  
"Then you must know that the press, as well as the opposition, is desperately combing through everything President Dillon has done during his term," Noonan said, raising an eyebrow, "Including Operation Salvage,"  
The crew tried not to think about anymore, but Silverado had been 'recycled'. Originally constructed decades ago, the ship had been left to rot in a junkyard until President Dillon came up with the idea of refitting old ships that had previously been considered lost causes. Silverado had been the first ship recovered by the program, but several others had followed since including the USS Elfman, Stallion, Vendome, Papineau and Cricket. Whether or not the operation was a success was still a matter of debate, as Silverado continued to be plagued by minor glitches. Only Sylvia's presence allowed the ship to run as smoothly as it did, as evidence by the more serious problems the other ships experienced. Jeffery and Sylvia had helped a lot during an officer exchange program (a one-way exchange, at that), but they hadn't been able to fix everything.  
"Sooo, what?" Jall asked, "You think the project might be cancelled? Big deal,"  
"No, I'm not worried about the project being cancelled," Noonan said calmly, "However, Dillon's supporters can be a ruthless group, as are his opponents. I strongly suspect that you and the rest of my former colleagues might find yourselves caught up in the struggle, as Operation Salvage has already come to their attention,"  
"What are you trying to say?" Jall asked, "That we're going to become pies in some political pie-fight?"  
"I don't know," Noonan frowned; looking frustrated for the first time in Jall's memory, "I have a sense…" he trailed off, then brought his gaze back to Jall.  
"Whatever you do, Commander," Noonan said gravely, "Remember where your loyalties lie. And who your real friends are,"  
With a polite nod, he closed the channel.  
Jall sat staring at his screen, wondering what the hell that was all about.

Lab Technician 1st Class Trent Smedi and his partner, Lab Technician 2nd Class Jemi H'Kspeda were working in Science Lab Two. Both were moderately competent scientists; Smith specialized in genetics and H'Kspeda in energy particle waves. Unfortunately for them, 'moderately competent' didn't get you onto a ship of the line like the Enterprise or onto a really important outpost like Deep Space 9. It would have gotten them onto an average ship, like the Endeavor, or onto a decently respectable outpost such as Starbase 45, if not for the fact that the two of them tended to have…accidents.  
Neither had attended Starfleet Academy, however they'd gone through the standard training required for all Starfleet personnel. Their laboratory supervisor had noted that the accidents occurred in much greater number when the two of them were working together and had made a special notation in their records to ensure that they never served on the same ship.  
Tough luck.  
There are only so many 'ships of the damned' so to speak. At the time Silverado was being crewed, the Explorer was out hunting for some race called the Bast, the Secondprize had reached maximum crew capacity, the Banshee had been destroyed (despite rumours to the contrary) and Waystation had already surpassed their scientific accident quota for the rest of the decade, what with their encounters with the evil Happyverse and all.  
So the Dispatch Officer had shrugged, hoped that the stories of their laboratory disasters had been exaggerated and shipped them off to Silverado.  
"Trent, what are you doing now?" H'Kspeda asked. She was Selay, a species resembling an Earth King Cobra. The hood-like flaps that ran down her head to her neck were relaxed, indicating that she was not in an aggressive mood. Not that she ever was. If she were a bit more aggressive, she might have had more success in stopping some of Smith's more…questionable…experiments. While the two of them were closely matched in terms of scientific knowledge, H'Kspeda was by far the superior when it came to common sense.  
"This?" Smedi, a human/Trill hybrid, put an innocent expression on his face as he manipulated the controls to the life-sciences equipment he was using, "Nothing. Nothing at all. Smedi's human father was of Arabic descent, while his joined Trill mother had been the trill equivalent of Asian. The resulting features would have made Smedi very attractive, if it weren't for the fact that his obsession with his experiments caused him to forget basic necessities such as washing or cutting one's hair. His gut had been expanding continuously since he'd joined Starfleet, and was in danger of overwhelming his standard-issue belt. None of their co-workers would say it to their faces, but the entire Science staff was positive that if H'Kspada had been a more humanoid woman, she would have avoided him like the plague. What they didn't know was that she found all humans sexually repulsive. Since she couldn't avoid them all like the plague, she'd simply come to terms with the fact that she wouldn't be dating until another Selay was assigned to the ship. (Or Commander T'Parief became single.)  
"Maybe you should wait until Lieutenant Fifebee can take a look," H'Kspada said hesitantly.  
"Fifebee? Naww," Smedi grimaced, "What, just because she's an officer, she knows better than me? This experiment is going to change the world as we know it!"  
"But-" H'Kspada tried to object. As usual, Smedi ignored her.  
"OK, so first I need to implement a gradual mutation, but only in certain cells," Smedi said to himself, "Maybe if I implement a type of nano-machine that would tear down and rebuild the DNA at the nucleotide levee?"  
"But-"  
"Or," Smedi went on, "I could set a retrovirus that would re-write the relevant DNA, then put in a biological energy field generator that would prevent the virus from spreading to the rest of the organism,"  
"But-"  
"No!" Smedi grinned, "I've got it! I'll simply enter in a DNA sequence into the organism that will cause it to rewrite its own DNA at the onset of reproductive development! Perfect!"  
H'Kspada sighed. It was a very special kind of sigh that said 'You-Are-A-Complete-Moron-And-I-Tried-To-Stop-You- But-You-Didn't-Listen-So-I-Give-Up'. She sat down next to Smedi, bracing herself.  
"OK!" Smedi said triumphantly, tapping at a panel, "This is it!"  
KA-BOOOOOOM!  
The console exploded, throwing Smedi and H'Kspada against the far wall, debris raining down all around them.  
"What is the meaning of this?"  
Lieutenant Fifebee had materialized in the center of the lab, at the former site of the life-sciences equipment module.  
"Uhhh," Smedi looked back at her, a guilty half-grin on his face, "Oops?"  
Fifebee crossed her arms. Her holographic avatar was that of an attractive, young brunette with pale skin, porcelain features and a general air that made fans of 20th century television cocks their heads and say, 'Lillith?' A recent upgrade to her program hadn't done much to change her general attitude; however her decisions were no longer guided by the library of scientific personalities in her database. As a result, she'd starting doing immature things such as piercing body parts and copulating with Ensign Grant in locations such as the janitor's closet on Deck 15.  
"Do I even want to know what ridiculous plan you had this time?" Fifebee asked. Yesterday it had been an eyebrow piercing. Today it was two.  
"Um," Smedi bit his lip.  
"He was trying to make a strain of barley that would produce wheat grains," H'Kspada sighed.  
"It's going to be the next big thing in galactic agriculture!" Smedi said, slightly desperately, "Imagine! You plant barley, and you get wheat!"  
Fifebee frowned.  
"Why would anybody want that?" she asked.  
"Well," Smedi paused for a moment, "I mean, you might…"  
"I have just about had it with your foolishness," Fifebee said sharply, "Now, start repairing this lab! And if I hear about one more attempt to manipulate life as we know it, I will have your head as a trophy!" She turned for the exit. As she passed a sign that said '29 Days Since Smedi and H'Kspada's Last Accident' she tapped a button on the side, resetting the counter to zero.  
"Maybe we shouldn't have set the growth accelerator to 5000 percent," Smedi pondered.  
H'Kspada sighed again.

Stafford arrived at Yanick's quarters right on time.  
"My lady," he said gravely, bowing formally when Yanick answered the door.  
"Oh, get in here, silly!" she giggled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him in.  
"So, what do we have in store tonight?" Stafford joked, "Foreplay, or just cuddling?"  
"You wish!" Yanick said, rolling her eyes.  
When Silverado had launched, Stafford had found Yanick to be one of the few officers he actually enjoyed working with, and they had formed a fast friendship. The various events of the past few years, from body swapping to parallel realities to being stranded on a time-fractured planet hadn't really strained their friendship, but it had been a long time since the two of them had really hung out on their own. With things calm and back to normal at last, they were finally working to correct that.  
"Good evening," a third voice spoke  
Then again…  
"Pari," Yanick started, "What are you doing here?"  
"I saw the Captain coming to your quarters and thought I would say hello," T'Parief said stiffly.  
"Hi," Stafford said, waving weakly.  
"Uh, huh," Yanick crossed her arms, clearly not convinced, "You saw him coming here, and figured you had to come chaperone us, right?"  
Now it was T'Parief's turn to look uncomfortable.  
"It is not that I do not trust you," he said to Stafford, "However, it is common knowledge that you have not been with a woman in…a long time."  
"Isn't that sweet!" Yanick giggled, ignoring the shocked look on Stafford's face, "He's getting all protective."  
"I think I resent that, Commander!" Stafford said.  
"Well, he's right," Yanick said, batting her big blue eyes, "You were just telling me yesterday you haven't had sex since-"  
"Whoah," Stafford said, stopping her, "That's classified!"  
There was some awkward silence.  
"Well," Yanick said, "We were going to watch a movie and get smashed. Want to join us?"  
"If the Captain does not object," T'Parief said.  
"Well," Stafford said slowly, "This was supposed to be-"  
"I was only asking to be polite," T'Parief said flatly.

H'Kspada and Smedi were still in Science Lab Two, even though it was now several hours past the end of their duty shifts.  
"I'm an officer, I get to boss people around," Smedi grumbled, arms buried in the life-sciences module he'd detonated as he attempted to replace a gene resequencer, "I went to the Academy, I'm an officer, so now I'm better than the rest of you,"  
H'Kspada, who was repairing the control panel Smedi had repaired (incorrectly) half an hour ago, simply sighed. She'd long grown used to Smedi's rants against the commissioned members of Starfleet.  
"I get to make all the big decisions," Smedi said, his tone becoming more and more hostile, "Because I'm an officer! I get bigger quarters, because I'm an officer! I get better food, because I'm an officer!"  
"You know everybody gets their food from the same replicator systems," H'Kspada commented.  
"Hah!" Smedi said, "Everybody knows that all the replicators except for the ones in the officer's mess are programmed to lace our food with chemicals designed to make us more docile!"  
"But-" H'Kspada had been present when Smedi had disproved that theory using a medical tricorder.  
"And the tricorders on the ship have been tampered with to hide it!"  
H'Kspada tried, unsuccessfully, to point out that the tricorder that had been used was the one she'd brought from the training center.  
"And the ones at the training center!" Smedi went on, "It's a conspiracy!"  
He finished his work on the resequencer and moved on to his final repair item without even bothering to test it. H'Kspada finished repairing the control panel and started fixing all the mistakes Smedi had made when he'd repaired the resequencer.  
"What I need is to teach them a lesson," Smedi said suddenly, "I need to show those uptights that just because they have a fancier uniform and a few extra rank pins, it doesn't make them smarter than me!" He abandoned the life-sciences module and strode through the small hallway that connected his work area with H'Kspada's.  
"Weren't you working on some project dealing with subspace manipulation?" he asked as he started rummaging around her workspace.  
Wincing as her carefully organized padds were thrown into disarray, H'Kspada shook her head.  
"N-no," she hissed, her snake-like tongue flicking out between her lips.  
"I'm sure were telling me about it," Smedi went on, "you were talking about using a subspace coil to froth the quantum foam, or something like that,"  
"That was Ms. Horton explaining why her milkshakes were better than the ones your mother made. Quantum foam has little to do with subspace," H'Kspada said, "My project is on…on something completely different," She didn't want to tell him the details of her subspace manipulation experiments for fear that he'd destroy the universe. Or worse.  
"Was it Horton?" Smedi shrugged, "Still, doesn't that sound neat? "Frothing the Quantum Foam'. It would make a great title for a research paper!"  
"But why would anybody want to do that?" H'Kspada asked, knowing that instead of answering, Smedi would simply ignore her and start working.  
"Maybe," he said, "If I can combine the subspace manipulation effects of the warp engines with the frothing power of Horton's power blender…"  
H'Kspada sighed.

Picture a man and a woman. The man is tall, Caucasian, in his mid thirties, with brown hair, blue eyes and a build that would be athletic, were it not for the slight thickening of his midsection. The woman is shorter with long, blond hair pulled into a ponytail, smooth, creamy skin, innocent blue eyes and a slender, petite figure. While these two are male and female with normal wants and desires, they have no sexual interest in each other. Instead, they enjoy each other's company and want only to spend a companionable evening together, which they've been without for a long time.  
Now picture that the man and woman are seated at far, opposite ends of the sofa in order to make room for the 7 foot tall reptile with mottled green scales, sharp fangs, red eyes and claws that could give a tiger a run for its money.  
"Is there a particular reason why you chose this evening to spend time together?" T'Parief asked, breaking the awkward silence.  
"Yes, actually," Stafford said. He was sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, the expression on his face close but not quite matching the pout on Yanick's. "Jall and I finished the promotion list today. Trish invited me over for a drink to celebrate,"  
"You were promoted?" T'Parief asked Yanick.  
"I dunno," Yanick said dully, shrugging, "Chris won't tell me,"  
"Of course I can't tell her!" Stafford said, "Not until the names have been formally announced,"  
"I see," T'Parief nodded, "Then she is not trying to…thank you for a promotion,"  
"Ohhhh!" Yanick stood up, "T'Parief, I don't know what you're trying to imply there, but it better stop! Now, I'm going to go mix drinks for everybody. God knows we all need one!"  
She got up and left, heading towards the replicator in the other room.  
"I still cannot understand human women sometimes," T'Parief commented to Stafford. Stafford, who was still annoyed at having his pleasant evening intruded upon, was less than sympathetic.  
"Welcome to the club," Stafford said, arms still crossed.  
"Were we Gorn, it would be much simpler," T'Parief went on, "If I suspected that you were attempting to seduce my female, I would simply kill you. If I learned that you had already seduced her, I would kill both of you and seek a new mate,"  
"Uhh, that's…really interesting," Stafford swallowed, trying to move just a bit further away.  
"This human custom of pursuing platonic relationships with females that you do not wish to bed is very foreign to me," T'Parief confessed.  
"Didn't we go through all of this when you and Trish started dating?" Stafford said, getting a bit angry, "I'm not interested. Sure, she's hot, and yeah, she's a woman, but she's a woman under my command. In my mind, that makes her off-limits,"  
"Which explains just why you haven't mated in such a long time," T'Parief observed.  
"Hey, don't start with me!" Stafford said, sitting up straight, "This coming from the guy who wasn't even capable of sex until a year or so ago!"  
A deep, rumbling rattle came from T'Parief's throat. Stafford had learned long ago that this was a sign of intense anger.  
"Er, not that there's anything wrong with keeping your virginity for the right woman," Stafford gulped.  
The rumble changed to a lower pitch.  
"I have drinks!" Yanick said, returning to the room with three large glasses.  
"Gimmi!" Stafford cried.

Jall yawned as he strolled into Unbalanced Equations. That promotions list had been a brutal, but long overdue piece of work. But he and Stafford had finally hammered out a list of just who on Silverado deserved to move up in rank. Jall had, to his immense surprise, actually enjoyed working with Stafford on the project. He and the captain might not see eye to eye on everything and they definitely had their share of heated arguments, but Stafford did have the well-being of his crew in mind and, at times, a reasonable idea of what he was doing. It wouldn't hurt to put a little effort into improving their working relationship.  
Which was why Jall had planned to join him for a quick drink. But looking around the lounge, he couldn't see Stafford anywhere. Jeffery was sitting alone at one of the table corners, trying to stay out of sight. (He'd come out of his shell briefly for the Christmas thingy, but went crawling back in the second it was over.) Wowryk, Fifebee and Sylvia were seated in the large armchairs at the back of the room, talking quietly as they looked out at the stars.  
Jall walked over and leaned on the back of Wowryk's chair.  
"Hey ladies," he said, "Any juicy new gossip?"  
"None that you are permitted to know," Wowryk said coolly.  
"We finished with most of the gossip ages ago," Sylvia said, "We're onto girl-talk now,"  
"I thought girl-talk was gossip?" Jall asked.  
"No," Fifebee said, cradling Fido. She did not elaborate.  
"Is there something you want, Commander?" Wowryk asked.  
"Did it just get colder in here, or is that just me?" Jall asked, his voice still cheerful.  
"I do believe I am starting to miss the old 'angry, annoying Jall'," Fifebee commented, "This new 'cheerful, annoying Jall' model is somewhat more aggravating,"  
"I aim to please!" Jall chirped, "but since you asked so nicely, I'm looking for the captain,"  
"He's in Ensign Yanick's quarters," Sylvia said immediately.  
"Ohhh…the Captain and Ensign Yanick, alone together! That's a whole new juicy topic to gossip about!" Fifebee said excitedly, "Excellent! I am in dire need of practice!"  
"Nothing there to gossip about," Sylvia said, "T'Parief is there too,"  
"Oh," Fifebee looked disappointed. She perked up, "Unless they are engaging in group-"  
"Stop!" Wowryk cried, plugging fingers into her ears.  
"It's nothing like that," Sylvia said, "C'mon, let's head over to the RoughHouse. Plenty of gossip opportunities there,"  
The three ladies stood, ignoring Jall as they walked towards the door.  
Shrugging, Jall walked towards the opposite exit. If Yanick and Stafford were having a little get-together, he'd just have to join them.

"Come on, come on," Yanick called from the other room, "drink up! More on the way!"  
"Uh, Trish," Stafford said, forcing himself to swallow the last of his martini, "It's only been 15 minutes!"  
"The more the merrier, and all that," Yanick said, returning to room with another tray of Cosmopolitans.  
"BUUUUUWWWAAAAAAAPPPP!" T'Parief belched.  
They'd turned on some music in an attempt to improve the rather bleak evening, but so far things remained awkward.  
"Maybe we should do this another time," Stafford said softly to Yanick, hoping T'Parief wouldn't hear.  
"No, no," Yanick whispered back, "We planned this for tonight, we're doing it tonight."  
"Well, OK," Stafford said, still not looking totally convinced as he took a sip of his drink. He picked up a padd and started going through the ships entertainment library.  
Be-DEEEP!  
"Hi, everybody!" Jall cried from Yanick's door.  
Stafford tilted his head back, swallowing his drink in one gulp.

"Smedi, it is getting late," H'Kspada said, her head flaps starting to twitch in annoyance, "Let us have a relaxing night. Tomorrow you can resume your…work,"  
"I can't do this tomorrow," Smedi said, bent over his masterpiece, "I'm supposed to be cataloguing the DNA sequences from those planetary samples we took on last week,"  
Which H'Kspada had known perfectly well. But, most of the time, if she could get Smedi to abandon one of his insane projects, even for a few hours, he would end up forgetting all about it and moving on,"  
"OK," he said, "So, I got the parts I needed from Horton's kitchen, and I've got all the hookups ready. Now we just need a power source."  
"I think I have a 9 volt battery in my desk," H'Kspada said hopefully.  
"Don't be silly," Smedi said. The contraption on the table, which had started life as a kitchen blender, had been spliced into a subspace field generator H'Kspada had been working on. Her project had been an offshoot of spatial manipulation experiments that she had read about. She was hoping to duplicate some very interesting effects she had heard of, but was nowhere near ready to test her experiment. Most likely, she figured, when Smedi put power to the device, nothing would happen. Probably. Hopefully.  
"I don't think we have anything in the lab strong enough for what I have in mind," Smedi said. He picked up the modified blender and walked towards the door.  
"Uh, where are you going?" H'Kspada asked.  
No answer. He was already in the corridor.  
"If he destroys the known universe, my career is toast," she hissed as she followed him. It wasn't hard; his girth made him easy to follow.  
After walking down the curved corridor then taking a turbolift to Deck 29, Smedi walked into Main Engineering, looking like he owned the place.  
"Hello, hello," he said pleasantly to the evening shift engineers, most of whom simply turned back to their consoles, "Don't mind us,"  
He walked past the thrumming warp core, with its swirling columns of energy, and over to a power distribution bank.  
"Uh, excuse me," an officer with red hair was poking his head out of the chief engineer's office, "What are you doing?"  
"Just a science experiment, sir," Smedi said, putting just a bit too much emphasis on the 'sir'.  
"Is that authorized?" the officer (Lieutenant Sage) asked.  
"Sure it is," Smedi laughed, connecting the device to the power outputs, "Would I be here if it wasn't?"  
"Would he?" Sage asked H'Kspada.  
"Yes," H'Kspada said flatly.  
"She's such a joker," Smedi laughed. He activated the device.  
The blender spun into gear, the pronged mixers spinning with a high-pitched hum. The various electronics Smedi had attached to the device started blinking, indicating proper functioning.  
"There, see?" Smedi said, "Not a problem."  
Then the room started to melt.

"Here, have another drink," Yanick said, a strained grin on her face.  
"Yesh. Yesh please," Stafford said, grasping at the glass she was holding in front of him. It took him three tries before he was able to successfully take it.  
"How about 'Trading Starships'?" Jall asked, oblivious to the strained atmosphere in the room.  
"Jusht shoot me," Stafford slurred.  
"I think I saw that under 20th century television," Jall frowned, searching through the padd.  
T'Parief chose that moment to pass out, his head lolling back onto the couch.  
"Oh, thank goodness!" Yanick said, walking back in yet again with another tray of drinks, "He's getting better at holding his liquor. I thought he'd never fall asleep,"  
"You mean you wanted him unconscious?" Jall asked.  
"Do you have a problem with that?" Stafford asked, his own head never quite staying still.  
"Nope," Jall shrugged, "In fact, at this one bar-"  
"Stop!" Stafford exclaimed, straightening up in seat. Unfortunately, the movement caused T'Parief to start sliding sideways, right on top of Stafford.  
"Somebody help me," he squeaked, struggling to get free, "It smells like Florida swamp under here!"  
"Pari was trying a new cologue," Yanick said, taking a seat at the far side of the couch, "But hey, now that he's out, we can go back to our movie plan, right?"  
"Can't…breathe…" Stafford wheezed.  
"How about 'The Horta Wears Prada'?" Jall asked.  
"Too…gay…" Stafford forced out, still trying to wriggle out from under the unconscious security chief.  
"It is not," Jall said indignantly, "It's got that hot chick with the nice ass,"  
"It's a movie about fashion, Jall," Yanick said, "Chris says that fashion is for guys who can't get laid with their natural, rugged good looks,"  
Jall looked at Stafford for a moment then burst out laughing. He finally stood and reached for Stafford's arm, pulling him free of his couch/reptile prison. Stafford stumbled to his feet, head spinning, leaning on Jall for support.  
"I don't feel good," Stafford mumbled.  
"Sorry," Yanick shrugged, "But T'Parief would have caught on if he was the only one drinking,"  
Suddenly the deck pitched under their feet, sending everybody to the floor in a heap.

"Status report!" Lieutenant Quintaine called from the command chair.  
"Warp engines just went offline!" Ensign Day called from ops, "There's some kind of power drain in Main Engineering!"  
"Compensate," Quintaine ordered, "Re-establish the warp field!"  
"Uh, there's something freaky happening with the warp field," Pye reported from the helm, "It just did something I've never seen before!"  
"Such as?"  
"Uh," Pye tapped his panel, "You tell me!"  
The main viewer flickered to life, showing a diagram of Silverado's warp field. The multi-layered field looked normal, until the entire field jumped, spiraling around a central point like water going down the drain.  
"Ohhh," Quintaine gulped, slouching in the command chair, "This can't be good,"

Yanick was the first to recover.  
"Ohhh, what did I put in that last martini?" she wondered, sitting on the floor and looking around. She pulled herself to her feet, then noticed Stafford and Jall. The jolt that knocked out Yanick had knocked out both of them. Stafford had collapsed to the floor, then Jall had landed on top of him.  
Yanick picked up an empty martini glass from the floor, looked at it, looked at the two officers on the floor, then looked at the glass again.  
"What the HELL did I put in that last martini?" she wondered again.  
"Owww," Jall groaned as he woke up, "Where…who..?"  
Stafford's eyes opened, staring blankly up at the ceiling. After a moment or two, the confusion cleared as he shrugged off the effects of the synthohol. He looked up. Saw Jall's face.  
"AHHHHHHH!" he shrieked. Flailing, he shoved Jall off then jumped to his feet.  
"What did you do?" he snarled, glaring at Jall as the half-Trill picked himself up off the floor,"  
"What did I do?" Jall shot back, "What did YOU do?"  
The two of them turned and looked, somewhat desperately, at Yanick.  
"What did WE do?"  
"Bridge to captain," Quintaine's voice came over the comm, "We're having a bit of a crisis up here,"  
"We're having another crisis down here, too!" Jall shot back.  
"Does yours involve the ship coming to a stop?" Quintaine asked.  
"I'm on my way," Stafford said, giving Jall one last dirty look, "We'll deal with…with this later!" he tapped his badge, "All senior officers, report to the bridge!"  
He strode out into the hallway, Yanick and Jall close behind. He didn't get three paces before his comm went off again.  
"Sage to captain,"  
"Yes?"  
"Um," Sage swallowed, "It's not my fault, but the engine room is…melting,"  
"Melting?"  
"Yes," Sage's voice suddenly lost its calm, "And I think I'm melting with it!"

"Senior officers, report to the bridge!"  
Jeffery was in one of the lower cargo holds when the ship shook. He'd been looking for a bottle of whiskey that he had stored in his storage module, but hadn't been having much luck finding it.  
"The bridge," he muttered, "Didn't it occur to ye that Ah might learn more about what's happenin' in engineering?"  
Forgetting his search, Jeffery stepped out into the corridor, walking purposefully towards the nearest turbolift. As he walked, he started to notice something strange. The wood-finished hand rail that lined one side of the corridor was starting to sag, like a big, wet pasta noodle. Panels were starting to droop, and support struts were flexing.  
"Ohh, Ah dun think this is good," he grumbled, walking faster and wishing he had a tricorder. Even as he moved, the warping continued, the rails were now stretching like taffy, hanging off their supports. A ceiling panel liquefied and fell to the floor behind him. Picking up his pace, Jeffery started running. What he didn't notice was that his arms, swinging by his sides, had likewise started to lose their solidity, sagging and stretching.  
He reached the turbolift, panting, and when the doors didn't open immediately, he tapped the 'call' button. Or tried to. His elongated arms drooped to the floor even as he tried.  
"BLOODY HELLISH BOLLUX!" Jeffery screamed, looking down at his body. His legs were collapsing, oozing into a puddle on the floor, and he was pretty sure other objects were hanging lower than they should have been. Desperately, he lunged forward, hitting the 'call' button with his nose, which squished into his face like an overripe tomato.  
The doors opened, and Jeffery jumped/oozed into the lift.  
"Bbbbrrriiiddgeeee," he cried, the word coming out like a gurgle.  
As soon as the lift jerking into motion, Jeffery was sure he was going to be sick. His entire body sloshed like a water balloon and the turbolift car itself rippled and pulsated like something made of pudding. Yet there was no pain, for which Jeffery was very grateful.  
As suddenly as they had come on, the changes reversed themselves. The turbolift car solidified, regaining its proper shape. Jeffery's limbs straightened, his body stiffened and his nose resumed its previous shape. Within seconds he was back to normal. The turbolift doors opened onto the bridge. Jeffery emerged, shaking and sweating.  
"Simon?" Stafford asked, looking over Day's shoulder at ops, "Are you OK? You look like you've seen a ghost!"  
"Don't go downstairs," Jeffery whimpered, waving a hand back at the turbolift. He quickly explained what he'd seen.  
"Ah've always wanted a willy that reached me knees," Jeffery added, still shaken, "But not like that!"  
Stafford and Jall exchanged a very uncomfortable glance, then moved further apart.  
"No need to get graphic," Jall said quickly, "So, Fifebee, any neat ideas on what the hell is happening?"  
Fifebee turned to face Jall, her hands still tapping at her panel.  
"Something in the ship is generating a powerful subspace field," Fifebee said, "Beyond that, I do not know,"  
"How big is the field?" Stafford asked.  
"It encompasses much of the secondary hull," Fifebee replied, "And it is growing. And there is something else…some kind of…I do not know what,"  
"Dangerous?" Stafford asked.  
"I do not think so," Fifebee replied.  
"What do ye mean?" Jeffery snapped, "I was oozing like one of Jall's fruity fondues!"  
"My fondues are not fruity," Jall said indignantly.  
"Yeah," Stafford said, "But sometimes people dip fruit in fondue,"  
He clapped his hand over his mouth, like he'd just said something evil.  
"Oh my God!" Stafford shouted, "I'm catching it! I'm catching it!"  
"Don't be an ass!" Jall snapped.  
"Hey let's leave 'ass' out of the-"  
"Is there somethin' the two of you wanna tell us?" Jeffery asked.  
"No!" Stafford and Jall shouted.  
There was an awkward silence.  
"OK," Stafford said, "Jeffery, you, Fifebee and I are going to try to get into engineering. Jall, you stay up here with Yanick and…where's T'Parief?"  
"I think we left him passed out on the floor," Yanick said.  
"Ah. Jall, just…stay here," Stafford said, stepping into the turbolift, "Come ON, Simon!"  
Taking a deep breath, Jeffery stepped into the turbolift.  
Yanick turned to Jall.  
"So what did you two do?" she asked, oblivious to the rapt attention she was receiving from the night shift.  
"Well," Jall thought for a moment, then frowned.  
"Nothing," he said.  
"Oh, c'mon Jall, you can tell me!"  
"No, I mean, we couldn't have done anything. I remember hanging out with the two of you in your quarters right up to when the ship dropped out of warp. Then we recovered. I must have just landed on him when we were knocked out," Jall let out a deep breath, "Thank God!"  
"Oh," if Yanick was disappointed that she wouldn't have fresh gossip for the mill, it didn't show. (Pye, on the other hand, could be heard cursing quietly.) "Well, Chris will be glad to hear that. He probably doesn't remember anything after all that booze I made him drink.  
"Really?" Jall said, a slow, evil smile spreading.

"This is the edge of the field," Fifebee said, tapping her tricorder. The three of them were in a Jefferies tube on Deck 20, in the connector between the primary and secondary hulls. "I am detecting subspace disruptions, but have never seen patterns like this,"  
"Jeffery?" Stafford asked.  
"This is weird," Jeffery said, tapping at a wall panel, "Accordin' to Sylvia, there's nothin' wrong with any of the systems down there, except for the power drain and the subspace field,"  
"So?"  
"So, most of the time, when stuff melts, it stops workin'!" Jeffery said.  
"Uh oh," Fifebee muttered.  
Stafford turned to her. She continued tapping at her tricorder.  
"Uh oh?" he prompted, "Uh oh? Fifebee? Uh oh?"  
"Oh, sorry," Fifebee turned to face him, "I may have underestimated the size of the field. What is ahead of us is only a stronger region of the field. The field itself encompasses the entire ship,"  
"Then why aren't we all melty?" Jeffery asked.  
"I have a theory," Fifebee said. She started climbing down into the Jefferies tube. Stafford and Jeffery hesitantly followed.  
Two decks down, Fifebee led them into a corridor. Jeffery kept holding his arm out, waiting to see if it drooped. Nothing.  
"It's not happenin'," Jeffery said.  
"Yes, it is," Fifebee replied. She turned the tricorder screen so the two of them could see.  
"What is that?" Stafford asked.  
"Mr. Jeffery," Fifebee replied.  
"What? It looks more like scrambled eggs!" Stafford said.  
"Subspace and space are extremely twisted," Fifebee said, "It is almost as though reality itself has been manipulated, causing anything within the area to become distorted."  
"Uh, then how come we don't look distorted?" Stafford asked.  
"Because you had been twisted in the exact same way that space has," Fifebee explained. Stafford and Jall looked blankly at her.  
"Just trust me," she said, "To an outside observer this entire ship likely resembles scrambled eggs at this point."  
"Then why did things get gooey before?" Jeffery asked, following Fifebee into a turbolift. She looked quite unworried.  
"I suspect that as one gets closer to the source of the distortion, the phenomenon is so extreme that it becomes perceptible to human senses. Possibly because the effect on space and subspace is no longer equal, or perhaps your perceptions are no longer warping to the same extent as the surrounding environment,"  
"Uh, Simon," Stafford pointed, "Your ears are hanging down around your neck. Ugh, that is GROSS!"  
Even as he spoke, his lips started to sag, his whole mouth oozing off his face.  
"Simply remember," Fifebee said, her left arm detaching itself from her body, "It is only a matter of perception,"  
"I perceive that I…that I…" Stafford gagged, then puked all over the floor.  
They arrived at Deck 29 and oozed as quickly as they could towards engineering. As they did so, the effects increased. Jeffery's face was now hanging off his left knee and Stafford's eyes had migrated to opposite sides of his head. Something that looked like a lung had attached itself to Jeffery's back.  
The corridor barely resembled a hallway. The walls and ceiling had sagged, supports were slowly collapsing, as though made of weak plastic. And yet there always seemed to be room for the three of them to pass through. The doors to engineering started to open, then promptly collapsed into a thick, gooey puddle.  
"OK," Stafford said, his voice coming out clear despite the shape of his mouth, "What the hell are you people doing down here?"  
"First of all, Captain," a bag of ooze called from the far end of the room, "This isn't my fault!"  
Stafford and Jeffery both vomited this time.  
"Fifebee…is he supposed to be…inside out?"  
"I do not know," Fifebee replied peevishly, "I did not cause this problem!"  
"Look," Smedi (a slightly fatter bag of ooze) said, "If I can just get the blenders aligned with the subspace field generated by the warp drive, it will compensate for the-"  
A nearby bag of ooze, this one with darker colours, gave a sigh.  
"What did you do!" Stafford shouted.  
"Well," Smedi gulped, "I just thought I'd try out this neat gizmo I put together-"  
"Unauthorized testin'?" Jeffery snapped, "In MY engine room?"  
"On MY ship?" Stafford added.  
"Smedi," H'Kspada said, "Just turn it off!"  
"No, no," Smedi said. A portion of the blob (a hand being uplifted?) waved, "I can get this working. Maybe if I increase power to the-"  
"SHUT IT DOWN!" Jeffery, Fifebee and Stafford screamed.  
"OK, OK," Smedi said, sounding offended, "I just have to do it slowly,"  
There was a click, then a whirring as the blender blades slowly stopped spinning. As they did, the blobs of ooze on the floor slowly resolved back into people, internal organs returning to the inside and external body parts returning to their proper locations. Support struts straightened and the warp core, which was sagging to one side like a dying tree, straightened and resumed its normal shape. Finally, everything was back to normal.  
"Get your hands off that device!" Stafford snapped, walking over to the blender-like gadget sitting on the workbench. Jeffery kept massaging his stomach, trying not to be sick again.  
"What were you trying to do, anyway?" Stafford demanded.  
"Well," Smedi swallowed, "I figured if I used a subspace field manipulator to sort of 'clamp on' to the space-time fabric, then set the manipulator into a circular motion, I could twist reality. Y'know, froth up the quantum foam!"  
Stafford stared at him.  
"Why the hell would anybody want to do that?" he demanded.  
"Why indeed?" Fifebee asked, "You have seriously damaged the structure of reality at this location. You are lucky reality did not tear, or worse, unravel. We should move the ship away from this location," she added to Stafford.  
"Stafford to bridge," he tapped his comm-badge, "Problem solved. Take us out, slowly!"  
He started to head towards the exit.  
"Oh, one more thing,"  
He turned around, picked up Smedi's device and smashed it on the deck, pieces flying in all directions.  
"DON'T DO THAT AGAIN!" he shouted.

Captain's Log, Supplemental:

"Remind me why we need scientists on board to begin with? Well, now that we've turned off that…whatever it was, we have been able to re-engage warp drive and continue on course for Starbase 45. Dr. Wowryk has informed me that her supply of anti-nausea medication is dangerously low, and ship's maintenance informs me that it will be several hours before the last of the vomit is cleaned out of the carpets. We were pretty lucky though; Fifebee tells me that if Smedi's little experiment could have ripped the ship apart. Or left us permanently turned into ooze balls. This is part of why he'll be working for maintenance for the next few months, cleaning up the most disgusting messes we can find."  
"Speaking of disgusting messes,"

BE-DEEP!  
"Come," Stafford called.  
Jall walked in and took a seat across from Stafford.  
"I guess we need to talk," Stafford said.  
"I guess we do," Jall nodded.  
"I don't know what happened," Stafford said, fidgeting uncomfortably, "My memory's a bit fuzzy, but I want you to know that I am, in no way, interested in-"  
"Nothing," Jall said flatly.  
"I was going to say 'you', actually. I'm very interesting in woman, especially if they've got nice-"  
"No, I mean, nothing happened," Jall said, "The ship shook, we fell down on the floor and were knocked out. Pure coincidence, us waking up where we did."  
"Oh," Stafford blew out a deep breath, "Oh, thank you merciful God," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling.  
"Tell me about it," Jall muttered, getting up to leave.  
"You know, Commander," Stafford called, "You really could have messed with my mind on this one,"  
Jall turned back.  
"I could have," he said, "Maybe the next time you feel like taking a shot at me, you'll remember that,"  
He left.  
"Well," Stafford said, leaning back in his chair, "Maybe I will,"

Jall stepped into his office, waiting to feel the familiar discomfort he always felt when he entered. Yup, there it is. A wave of coldness, making him feel at once uncomfortable and unwelcome. Almost like…  
He turned and examined the control panel next to the door.  
"Stupid," Jall grumbled, turning the environmental controls back up to the proper temperature.  
He settled into his chair and activated his terminal. Before he could do anything, the comm sounded.  
"Hiya, Commander," Yanick's cheerful voice called, "I have a message for you from Earth,"  
"Put it through," Jall said.  
"Thank you for holding," Yanick's voice came back, "I have Commander Jall on the line, and he will be assisting you further. Thank you for calling Silverado and I hope you enjoy your communication with us."  
Jall grinned, expecting to see Noonan's pale face on his terminal. Instead, he was greeting by the grim face of a woman with hair so blond it was nearly white, black lipstick, dark eye shadow and strikingly beautiful features.  
"Your comm officer really doesn't know when to shut up, does she?" she asked.  
"Lydia Thompson," Jall said, instantly on his guard, "You're just lucky you didn't get the lizard,"  
"I'm sure," Thompson said, unperturbed. She had been assigned to Silverado as a Humanoid Resource liaison when the ship had been launched. Unofficially, she had been there to see that President Dillon's interests were served, since Silverado was part of one of his pet projects. She'd caused a major headache for Stafford when Jeffery had been captured by the Matrians, back in their first year on the ship, and Stafford had kicked her off the ship. Since then, she'd been working her way up the ranks of the bureaucracy known as Humanoid Resources.  
"And just what do you want from me?" Jall asked.  
"Commander," Lydia looked hurt, "Such harsh words. I would think you'd be happy to hear from the department that got you your rank back,"  
"Excuse me?"  
"Surely, you know that all appeals and mistreatment cases such as yours are processed by Humanoid Resources before appearing before a tribunal," Lydia explained.  
"Uh, it took 4 years to be processed, and I doubt you had anything to do with it," Jall said, crossing his arms.  
"Very well," Lydia said, "I can't claim responsibility for that, it's true. But you might want to consider that I do still have strong connections to Operation Salvage. I've been especially involved in crew selections, especially with so many ships being repaired. I don't think you want to be my enemy," she gave Jall a wink, "I may be able to…help you, at some point,"  
"I'm listening," Jall said neutrally.  
"Well, Lydia said, "Let's just say that there's a…situation that's come up. One that Admiral Tunney and I have decided is just perfect for Silverado,"  
"Perfect because we have the skills for it, or perfect because it gets us out of your hair?" Jall asked.  
"Both," Thompson said bluntly, "Let's face it, the method by which you were selected as first officer, while helpful in some ways, turned out to be highly embarrassing in others. In the end, we are at a time when we can ill afford embarrassment. Getting Silverado out of the way will make President Dillon's re-election campaign slightly easier. And it involves working with people you are already reasonably familiar with."  
"So what's the catch?" Jall asked.  
"Well, let's just say, hypothetically speaking, that this mission might put Stafford in a situation where he'll have to make some big decisions," Lydia said, "And, hypothetically speaking, these decisions, if made incorrectly, could have pretty serious impacts to his career, if they were communicated to the right ears,"  
"Your ears," Jall guessed.  
Thomson shrugged.  
"If he were to be removed as captain, it would be nice to be able to replace him with somebody I could…trust," she said.  
"Somehow," Jall said, "I doubt you have the authority for that."  
"Of course not," Thomspon said, "But Tunney does listen to me. A lot,"  
"Uh-huh," It was making sense to Jall know. No wonder Noonan had called him! He must have caught wind of this mission, but how did he know Lydia would be contacting him?  
'Remember where your loyalties lie.' Noonan had told him.  
Jall thought for a moment. Would he betray Stafford, just for a shot at captaincy? He honestly couldn't answer that question. He knew he couldn't do anything to Stafford to get him out of the position, that kind of backstabbing just wasn't him. But if Stafford were to do something really stupid, something that could result in his being removed anyway…would he actually have the gall to report it to Thompson?  
"You better tell me about this mission…" he said.  
She did.  
Jall's eyes widened his jaw dropping.  
"Hold, please!" he squeaked, hitting the hold button and running out of the room.  
"You missed the button!" Lydia called from the screen.  
But Jall had already left.  
No sooner was he out the door then Smedi snuck in.  
"F**king officers," he grumbled, moving quickly to Jall's desk and rummaging through the padds there, "Transfer me to maintenance, will you? We'll just see about that! When I find those transfer orders, I'll-"  
"What's this?" Lydia said from the screen, "A disgruntled crewmember?"  
"Uhhh," Smedi started, noticing the woman on the screen catching him in the act of rummaging through Jall's possessions, "Hello?"  
"I think you and I need to have a nice chat," Thompson said, smiling.

"So, Admiral," Stafford said, "What's up? You know we're only a day or so away from you,"  
"I know," the broad, goateed visage of Admiral Edward Tunney said from Stafford's screen, "But I thought you'd like to know that the details of your next mission have been finalized,"  
"Really?" Stafford leaned forward in his seat, "I know you were going assign a ship to search for any other Delori artifacts in this sector,"  
"The USS Vendome will be handling that mission," Tunney said.  
"Oh," Stafford looked disappointed, "Ok, what about surveying the Gould Nebula?"  
"I've got the Papineau on that one, but thanks," Tunney said, looking annoyed.  
"What about-"  
"Captain, if you'll shut up for a moment, I'll tell you!" Tunney snapped.  
"Oh," Stafford said quietly, "Sorry,"  
"First," Tunney said, referring to a padd, "To replace Mr. Johnson-"  
"I've already selected an officer to replace him," Stafford said.  
"I don't care," Tunney said, "After that televised fiasco it's going to be a LONG time before I let you select another senior officer! I'm assigning Lieutenant Commander Riven Valtaic as your new operations officer,"  
"Ohh, Ensign Day is going to be pissed," Stafford groaned.  
"He'll survive," Tunney said flatly, "You will pick up Mr. Valtaic at Starbase 45. And you damned well better treat him better than you treated Johnson!"  
"I still don't know what went wrong there," Stafford objected.  
"As to your mission," Tunney ignored him, picking up another padd, "It just so happens we need a ship to undertake a very interesting, very long term mission for us. And, will wonders never cease, it's something your crew is actually qualified for,"  
"What?" Stafford asked, "Is Starfleet expanding into the circus business?"  
"No, but if it does you'll be the first to know," Tunney said dryly, "What we have, well, let's just say that it's a great opportunity for you to learn about the aftermath of your actions, and a great opportunity for me to get you out of my hair for a while."  
Tunney tapped a button, causing a stream of mission details to appear on Stafford's terminal.  
"We'll meet when you arrive at Starbase 45," Tunney said, "Until then, happy reading." The screen went blank.  
Stafford's eyes widened as he read through the material scrolling down his monitor.

Yanick was seated comfortably at the helm, flipping through a copy of 'House and Starship," while beside her Ensign Rengs, temporarily putting in bridge duty at ops, flipped through baby pictures of his son.  
"That's kinda odd, isn't it?" Yanick said, "Calls for both the captain and the first officer at the same time? From different people?"  
"I wouldn't know," Rengs said, "I don't usually get to come up to the bridge,"  
"According to my memory files," Fifebee called from her aft console, "This has happened only once before on this vessel. And I don't believe it turned out to be a good thing."  
At that moment, the forward turbolift doors opened, revealing Jall. He was hyperventilating, sweat beading on his forehead as he glanced quickly around the bridge.  
"Where's Stafford?" he demanded.  
Directly across from him the doors to the ready room hissed open and Stafford bolted out, twitching and fidgeting, as though in a panic.  
"Where's Jall!" he snapped.  
The two officers noticed each other.  
"THEY'RE SENDING US BACK TO MATRIA PRIME!" they wailed.  
The bridge crew stared at them.  
"Oh, shit!" Fifebee solemnly declared.

End


	5. Shuffle

Star Traks: Silverado

4.5 "Shuffle"

"OK, once we're finished at Romulus Republic, we can grab a bite to eat at Denith's Pizza," Trish Yanick was saying, throwing her hair back over her shoulder. Today she was wearing it in a long braid, and it had been some time since her last haircut. At this rate, her hair would reach her butt in a few short months, "At least, those of us who eat will eat at Denith's. Then we can head over to the multiplex, there's a new James Bond movie I want to see!"  
"Why must we go to Romulus Republic?" Fifebee asked, "We can find low, low prices if we go to Club Melkot,"  
"Because I still get a staff discount at Romulus Republic," Yanick said.  
"Discount?" Wowryk raised an eyebrow, "You only worked there for a few days!"  
"With the Romulans, once you're in, you're in for life," Yanick said, slightly gloomily, "They tried to schedule me for a work shift tomorrow, too,"  
The three women were walking down the shopping concourse of Starbase 45, fingers already grasping bags of purchased goods. Silverado had docked at the Starbase less than half a day ago and the crew had been granted shore leave. Silverado herself was being fuelled and supplied for a long term mission, which meant that every cargo hold, every antimatter pod, every deuterium storage tank and every spare parts bin was going to be packed to capacity. Although they were scheduled for a brief stopover at Waystation on their way to Matrian space, the crew had been told to get as much R&R in as they could at Starbase 45.  
"I wish this place had a decent Klingon clothing store," Yanick said, rummaging through a rack of shirts, "Pari really gets turned on when I wear metal,"  
"There is a Klingon clothing store on Level B, Section 14," Fifebee advised her, having memorized the shop directory, "Kraggoth's Klingon Fashions,"  
"No, no," Yanick said, "I said decent! Everybody knows that if you want good Klingon clothing, you've got to hit Krilik's Klingon Formal Wear,"  
"Well, then you'll just have to wait until we get to Waystation!" Wowryk said.  
"Oh, is that a Gornzibar's over there?" Yanick said, peering out the store window, "They might have something,"  
Wowryk and Fifebee exchanged glances as Yanick bolted from Romulus Republic, staff discount forgotten.  
"You know Trish, you seem to be taking the news of this new mission fairly well," Wowryk said, catching up with the wayward blond, "I, for one, am most upset that I won't be able to visit my family next month for the annual Revival Festival,"  
"Revival Festival?" Fifebee asked.  
"Yes," Wowryk nodded, "To celebrate the second coming of Jesus,"  
"But that hasn't happened yet," Fifebee pointed out.  
"Well," Wowryk shrugged, "People said the same thing during the past 235 festivals, but sooner or later, we'll get him!"  
"The doctor does raise a valid point," Fifebee said to Yanick as she entered the Gornzibar store and started flipping through a rack of stainless steel pantyhose, "The captain locked himself in his quarters for 6 hours, Mr. Jeffery is hiding behind potted plants and Mr. Jall was seen replicating a piece of sports equipment designed to prevent male genital injury. You, however, are undertaking the exact same type of shopping spree you have undertaken every other time we have come to Starbase 45."  
"Well," Yanick said, moving on from the pantyhose and looking at leather arm bands, "What's the big deal? We've got all our friends on Silverado, we've got holodecks now, we've got food, drinks and entertainment. I mean, sure, we won't see our families, but we don't see them a lot now anyway!"  
"We are taking a high-powered subspace transceiver array with us," Fifebee mused, "Contact with the Federation will be much easier than it was previously,"  
"OK, so we'll have all the comforts of home," Wowryk said, crossing her arms, "But isn't anybody else bothered by the fact that we're going to be visiting the people that brainwashed us all and turned me into a raving ego-maniac?"  
"Oh, right," Yanick shrugged, "Well, it wasn't all of the Matrians that did that, right? It was just a few of their leaders,"  
"Trish, they enslaved and terrorized an entire region of space!" Wowryk snapped, "They sent out probes to find some poor male sap that was smart enough to lead their men, but too terrified of women to do anything but obey them, they attacked us several times and nearly destroyed the ship and we all wound up in the wrong bodies because of their stupid brainwashing technology!"  
"The Klingons slaughtered countless thousands over the centuries, but we're allies with them now," Fifebee pointed out.  
"And they have really bad body odour, but that didn't stop the Federation from establishing relations!" Yanick said proudly.  
"Nor did it stop Jall," Wowryk mused darkly.  
"That was just a rumour;" Fifebee waved away, "No self-respecting Klingon would spend time with Jall,"  
"You still need work on those gossip subroutines," Yanick said, picking out a chain mail skirt and a bottle of Gorn massage oil, "You'll never get anywhere if you don't let the stories spread!"

"Admiral Tunney will see you now," wheezed Tunney's secretary, a blue-skinned, horned and very cranky being. Stafford always heard Tunney refer to the being as 'she', but what could possibly be feminine about that walking brick was beyond Stafford's comprehension.  
"Thanks, sweetie," Jall said, giving her/it a big smile, "And may I say, you look lovely today! Are you using that new skin cream from Velvane?"  
The alien growled menacingly.  
"Let's just go in," Stafford said, grabbing Jall by the arm and pulling him into Tunney's office. Nothing had changed since his last visit; the walls were still the standard Starfleet Grey Office décor, a large viewscreen still dominated one wall and Tunney was still looking at him with a look that was somewhere between amusement and annoyance.  
"I was just being friendly," Jall said, "You always gotta get in good with the help! Who knows what kind of juicy gossip we could find out about Tun-"  
"Can it," Stafford snapped out of the corner of his mouth.  
"Captain Stafford," Tunney greeted him, not bothering to get up, "And this must be Commander Jall,"  
"Hi," Jall waved, "Nice beard. It really accentuates your facial features,"  
"I'm married," Tunney said flatly.  
"Why do people always think I'm hitting on them?" Jall rolled his eyes.  
"See what I have to live with?" Stafford muttered to Tunney.  
"I have no sympathy for you, Captain," Tunney said, "I have to live with my wife, after all,"  
Stafford turned red.  
"Not that I was implying anything," Tunney gestured for them to sit, "Still, Mr. Jall, your behaviour during the, er 'Silverado Idol' broadcast was less embarrassing than that of the other contestants. At least I can say something positive about you, which is more than I can say about the others."  
"Uh, thanks," Jall sat. Stafford remained standing, his skin tone slowly returning to normal.  
"Look, Admiral, about this mission," Stafford said.  
"Do you have a problem with it?" Tunney clasped his hands on his desk, looking calmly up at Stafford.  
"Well, the last time we were sent to Matrian space, our ship was captured by the Senousans, our chief engineer was kidnapped, our doctor became some kind of White Witch of the North and our ship was nearly destroyed," Stafford put his hands on Tunney's desk, "And don't even start me on the body switching!"  
"You weren't sent to Matrian space the first time," Tunney pointed out, "You were sent on an exploratory mission which happened to take you to Matrian space,"  
"Same thing," Stafford muttered.  
Tunney's attitude darkened.  
"Are you suggesting then, that I should send another ship, one crewed by officers who have never been to Matrian space and have no idea what to expect, no idea of the history of the region and no idea what the Matrians are capable of, just because you're frightened of a former empire of aggressive, large-breasted women?"  
"Well, when you put it that way," Stafford grumbled.  
"Your crew, as much as it frightens me to say it, are the most experienced when it comes to the Matrians. Only one other ship has visited Matrian space, the USS Wasagaming, and they were only delivering Ambassador Owens so he could start negotiating with the Matrians for Federation membership," Tunney said, "We recalled the Wasagaming to assist in the Dominion War, however Ambassador Owens remained behind to continue his negotiations,"  
"Great," Stafford said, finally taking a seat, "So we're just going to go pick Owens up then, right? Zip out, grab him, zip back, all finished?"  
"No," Tunney said, "There's been something of a development with the negotiations. Ambassador Owens has requested the presence of a starship, preferably one with experience in dealing with the Matrians,"  
"Ahh," Stafford and Jall exchanged knowing looks, "A 'development', huh? What is it, a bomb at the consulate? Death threats? Somebody poisoned the Matrian representative and we need to investigate?"  
"No," Tunney said, "The negotiations are being concluded,"  
"Ohhhh f**kberries," Stafford sighed, sinking down into the nearest seat.  
"I don't get it," Jall looked back and forth between Tunney and Stafford, "That's a good think, right?"  
"It means," Stafford said glumly, "that the Matrian government is about to take a final vote on whether or not to become members of the Federation. And if Owens is calling for a full starship instead of a scout or courier vessel, it means that he expects them to vote 'yes',"  
"Yippee," Jall shrugged, "Another member world. I'll make sure to pack the commemorative china,"  
"It means more than that," Tunney said, "It means the Federation is making a major expansion into that sector. The Senousans already voted to accept Federation membership last month, and Owens expects to open negotiations with another race, the K'K'Turi in the next few months. We'll be needing to setup more permanent lines of communication, exchange of technology and cultural information, travel, tourism and," he looked pointedly at Stafford, "defense. In another year or two, we may even look at building a Starbase in the region,"  
Stafford just sighed.  
"Most of the traffic out to Matrian space will be using Waystation as a departure point," Tunney went on, "That's why they're there, after all, although the way traffic has already been increasing in that sector, I'm not sure how much more they can take. Still, it will be some time before we start sending regular transports as far as Matria Prime,"  
"It sounds like this is a pretty big deal," Jall said, looking uneasy as the scope of the situation started to sink in.  
"It is," Tunney said bluntly, "The Matrians have been a major power in that region for at least a century, even though their civilization was apparently in decline."  
"A major bunch of slave drivers, you mean," Stafford said.  
"Until you and you crew went in with weapons blazing," Tunney reminded him, "In what was, I believe, a borderline Prime Directive violation,"  
"They started it!"  
"Regardless," Tunney handed Stafford a padd, "Your mission, and you have no choice but to accept it, is to travel to Matrian Prime and establish relations with their government and their military. As Starfleet representatives, you'll be expected to start preparing the Matrian space service to be incorporated into Starfleet. You'll also be exploring the region, establishing diplomatic ties with any new races discovered and generally helping the Matrians to establish themselves as a stabilizing force in the region,"  
"Sounds like we're going to be busy," Jall said.  
"Very," Tunney agreed.  
"Um, one question," Stafford raised his hand like he was in school, "Isn't this a job for a ship that's a bit more…um, good at this kind of thing? Like the Enterprise, or maybe Voyager?"  
"First, there is no way in hell we're letting Voyager get anywhere near any new civilizations, not after the reputation they gave us in the Delta Quadrant," Tunney said, "Second, the Enterprise is too busy, and third, this mission has the nice side effect of getting the ship assigned out of the press and out of our hair for the foreseeable future,"  
"Oh," Stafford said quietly.  
"Look on the bright side," Tunney said, leaning back in his chair, "If you pull this off with less than your usual number of screw ups, it will look very good on your records. It might even be a stop towards getting yourself into the Admiralty, although there's no way in hell I ever want to write THAT recommendation,"  
"Really?" Stafford perked up.  
"Hell, if they let Janeway in, anybody's got a chance," Tunney said darkly.  
"What if we screw it up?" Stafford asked.  
"Well," Tunney said cheerfully, "Most of the time, ships that screw up get blasted to pieces. In which case, better a used ship like yours instead of a nice, shiny new ship, right?"

"So," Yanick said, taking a sip of her 'Sex on the Beach', "Anybody know what we're doing here?"  
"Hopefully, not eating," Jeffery said, nervously eying a plate of squirming insects on the table next to them. Stafford had been vague, but had instructed them to meet at 'A Taste of Lekona', a restaurant on the upper level of the mall concourse. Jeffery was pretty sure Stafford would have picked a different restaurant if he'd known that the reptilian Lekonans survived on a diet composed primarily of bugs.  
"I suspect that we are here to meet our new crewmember," Fifebee said. The station didn't have holographic projectors in the restaurant so she'd brought her holo-relay along. The cylindrical device was blinking away in a corner, receiving odd stares from some of the other patrons, "Or have you forgotten? We are short one,"  
"Oh yeah," Jeffery snapped his fingers, "We need a new operations guy. What happened to that Johnson fellow, anyway?"  
"He didn't like us, so he left," Yanick said.  
"I can't imagine why," Wowryk said. She was seated next to Yanick, on the same side of the table as Jeffery so the two wouldn't have to look at each other.  
"Me neither," Yanick said, "I mean, we're lovable, right?"  
"Very," T'Parief rumbled. He was seated next to Fifebee, who had to keep ducking every time T'Parief's elbow came her way.  
"Ah didn't really know this Johnson fellow all that well," Jeffery said, "But he did seem like kind of a git, right? Ah mean, the lyin', and the sleepin' around and all that,"  
"Yes, and your behavior recently has just been a shining example to us all," Wowryk said coldly. Jeffery swallowed.  
"He slept around?" Yanick raised an eyebrow, looking eager to hear the dirt.  
"Not really. I was just practicing my gossip," Fifebee told her.  
"Speaking of which," Wowryk said, not looking at Jeffery, "Rumour has it that you have scarcely been seen outside of engineering for quite some time,"  
"Ah've been busy," Jeffery muttered.  
"Actually, aside from the Christmas festivities, he's been avoiding the crew and sulking, mostly due to embarrassment over his behavior during the first officer contest," Fifebee said. This time, as T'Parief shifted position, she simply went non-solid, allowing his elbow to pass harmlessly through her head.  
"Look, enough with the gossiping, Fifebee!" Jeffery groaned.  
"That's not gossip," Yanick said, turning to Jeffery, "That's fact. You screwed up. Welcome to the club. Now can we move on?"  
"Indeed," Wowryk said, "We're about to meet the being that we may be serving with for some time. We should make the best impression we can,"  
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Stafford said, plopping down at the head of the table. Jall followed, sitting in the empty seat next to Fifebee, "T'Parief, why is your elbow stuck in Fifebee's head?"  
T'Parief started, pulling his elbow back.  
"I am sorry, Lieutenant," he said, "I will try to be less careless."  
"By the way," Stafford said, a slightly smug look on his face, "Has anybody checked the promotions list lately?"  
"IT'S BEEN POSTED?" Yanick, Fifebee and Jeffery screeched.  
"Right before my meeting with Tunney," Stafford said, leaning back, "Jall has a copy, if you'd like to-"  
Jall immediately vanished under a flurry of limbs as Yanick and Fifebee dove at him. After several minutes of scuffling, Yanick emerged, a padd clutched triumphantly in one hand.  
"You could have just asked," Jall said, massaging his arm and looking down at his body, "I'm not sure, but I might have just been raped,"  
"YES!" Yanick screamed, dropping the padd, "I'M A LIEUTENANT!"  
"Ah'm a," Jeffery's eyes widened, "Lieutenant Commander? Still? But Ah passed the test and everything!"  
"Pari, you too!" Yanick said, taking the padd back from Jeffery, "Commander T'Parief! Ohhh! And Fifebee! Lieutenant Commander!"  
"Really?" Fifebee looked pleased, "What a pleasant surprise!"  
"Surprise is right," Jeffery muttered.  
"Excuse me, what was that?" Fifebee said sharply.  
"I'm also a Lieutenant Commander, I see," Wowryk commented, glancing at the padd, "Not a big deal. I don't think anybody's even mentioned my rank in the past 3 years, seeing as how I'm far more concerned with saving your miserable lives,"  
"Well, congratulations to everybody," Stafford said, putting on his best smile, "It was a tough list to make,"  
"You're not kidding," Jall muttered.  
"But I think we need to celebrate," Stafford finished smoothly, "Waitress! A round of your finest champagne. Or the nearest equivalent,"  
"Ohh, Ensign Day is now Lieutenant Day," Yanick kept reading, "And Lieutenant Rengs! Oh, and Quintaine is now a Lieutenant Commander! And Lieutenant Bithe, she'll be so pleased! And Naketh! Oh, it doesn't say which one…"  
"I'll have to fix that," Stafford muttered.  
"Oh, goody," Jeffery pouted.  
"I cannot believe you promoted me!" Fifebee said, a wide grin on her face, "I am only three years old, and already a Lieutenant Commander!"  
"You've done some good work over the past few years," Stafford said. Jeffery immediately threw him a dirty look.  
"Not that everybody hasn't," Stafford said quickly, "But, I mean, I only have room on my list for so many,"  
"Oh, aye," Jeffery said, "It's all about the numbers, eh?"  
"Well, I helped," Jall said, "And that whole 'storm off the bridge while Jall isn't looking' thing you pulled a few weeks ago really didn't score you any points,"  
"Ye took his advice not to promote me?" Jeffery's head snapped back in Stafford's direction.  
"Of course I did!" Stafford said, "He's my first officer!"  
"And yer new best bud, the way the two of ye have been pallin' around!" Jeffery shot back.  
"Your drinks?" the waitress had returned with a tray of champagne flutes filled with a murky, orange fluid.  
"I work with the guy," Stafford said, "I don't have much choice but to spend my working hours with him! And if you actually came to Deck 12 once in a while instead of moping around in your quarters, I would have happily joined you for a drink!"  
Sensing she wasn't going to be answered just yet, the waitress started passing around the drinks.  
"Oh, just go hang around Deck 12, Jeffery!" Jeffery grunted, "Don't mind the stares from the other crewmen, Jeffery! Just pretend everything is peachy and that everybody's not mad at ye for trying to win, Jeffery!"  
"Simon, I'm sure everybody's forgotten about that," Yanick said gently.  
"No, they haven't!" Jeffery snapped, "There was a re-run last week! And with Fifebee's little rumour mill runnin', they'll never forget!"  
"I only started the rumour about you pleasuring yourself in the Jefferies tube," Fifebee said, "I said nothing about your previous behaviour,"  
"WHAT?" Jeffery snapped.  
"Excuse me, is this the Silverado table?" Admiral Tunney and a man in a gold-collared Starfleet uniform had been guided to the table by the host, who was trying to politely interrupt. Tunney noticed the looks of hostility and the argument that was underway, "Like I even need to ask,"  
"Just a second," Stafford said, not bothering to look, "OK, people, stow the trash talk. Even if you didn't get a promotion, several of your friends and colleagues did! So shut up and be happy for them before I kick your asses!"  
"Um, Chris," Yanick, like most of the others at the table, had noticed Tunney standing behind Stafford.  
"Shush!" Stafford said. He picked up his drink.  
"To our colleagues!" he said, raising it and clearly expecting everybody to join him.  
"Oh, this is going to be good," Tunney murmured to his companion.  
"Our colleagues," the rest of the officers echoed, shooting Tunney uneasy glances as they lifted their glasses.  
As one, they drank.  
Stafford sat quietly for a second.  
"Oh my god," he said, jumping to his feet so quickly his chair fell over. He ran at top speed for the washroom.  
"I'm going to be sick!" Yanick cried, following him.  
Jeffery, Jall and Wowryk didn't get that far, proceeding to puke all over the table.  
T'Parief simply smacked his lip.  
"Ahh, Lekonan maggot wine," he said fondly, "And an excellent vintage, too!"

After reporting to the stations infirmary to have their stomachs beamed, (not that there was much left in them), Stafford and the others found a table in the 'Praetor and Firkin'. Fifebee had served a brief (and mostly successful) stint as a bartender there during a previous visit to the starbase.  
"No, no food for us," Stafford said, waving away the menu being offered by the waitress, "We, uh,"  
"We tried eating at the insect place upstairs," Yanick explained.  
"Ahh," the waitress nodded knowingly, "Then I suggest a cup of tea. It'll help calm your stomachs," she turned and walked away.  
"Why they didn't have a sign on the door is my question," Jall said, massaging his stomach, "I mean, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, right?"  
"That was like, so deep," Yanick said dreamily.  
They sat quietly for a moment. The waitress returned with their tea.  
"Ahh, yes," Jeffery sighed, sipping his tea, "That does feel better,"  
"Hmmm," Stafford mused, taking a sip.  
"Speaking of tea," Wowryk cut in, "Maybe now you should think about what is was that you did to scare off Johnson,"  
"You mean 'we', right, doc?" Jall said.  
"No, I mean you," Wowryk said, shrugging," "After all, it could not have possibly been anything I had done,"  
"Oh, never," Jeffery muttered, too quietly for her to hear.  
"She makes a good point though," Stafford said, "Tunney's bringing the new guy around again in a couple minutes. Can anybody remember doing anything, saying anything that might have offended Johnson enough to make him leave?"  
Yanick timidly raised her hand.  
"Trish?"  
"I kinda sorta…" Yanick trailed off, turning deep red.  
"Yes?" Stafford pressed.  
"I asked him if the rumours about black guys were true," she said sheepishly.  
Stafford stared.  
"What rumours?" Wowryk asked innocently.  
"Nothing you would know about," Jall assured her.  
"I don't think that would drive him off the ship," Stafford said quickly, "OK, look, let's try this. Stafford to Sylvia," he tapped his comm-badge.  
There was a shimmer and Sylvia materialized in an empty seat, courtesy of Fifebee's holo-relay.  
"Yes, Chris?" she asked. She turned to Fifebee, "Oh, you don't mind, do you, dear?" she gestured at the holo-relay.  
"Be my guest," Fifebee replied politely.  
"Sylvia, can you look over the security camera footage for the past few weeks and see if there's anything we said or did to Johnson that might make him want to leave the ship?" Stafford asked.  
Sylvia's face took on a dreamy expression.  
"Uh, Sylvia, did you hear me?" Stafford asked.  
"I'm looking," she said, eyes still vacant.  
"Oh, sorry," Stafford said, "You just sorta looked like…well…"  
"The way you look when I give a science briefing?" Fifebee suggested.  
"Something like that," Stafford muttered.  
"Well," Sylvia said after another moment, "I can't really find a specific thing that might have caused him to leave the ship,"  
"Good then," Jeffery said, forcing a grin, "It's not our fault and no harm done,"  
"Well, no," Sylvia corrected him, "There was harm done." She frowned, evidently still reviewing footage, "In fact, I'm ashamed of all of you!"  
"But you said-"  
"I said nothing specific," Sylvia said, her voice now much like that of an annoyed parent, "But you people have been complete assholes!"  
A display screen materialized in mid-air above the table. Sylvia started providing commentary while a number of scenes played out. The first showed Jeffery and Johnson in the officer's mess.  
"Here, Jeffery, you push in front of Johnson in the replicator line without apologizing,"  
"Me?" Jeffery swallowed. The screen changed to show Fifebee sitting next to Johnson during a staff meeting.  
"Fifebee, here we see you making snide remarks about the British,"  
"I merely commented that they had a tendency to overcook their meat," Fifebee said indignantly. The screen blinked again, showing Stafford walking quickly down the corridor while Johnson tried to keep up.  
"Chris, here we have you completely ignoring the man when he tried to bring up some kind of personal problem,"  
"I was…busy!" Stafford said. The screen switched again, showing Johnson talking to an attractive young woman in Unbalanced Equations. Until Jall swooped in.  
"Jall, you just totally distracted that young woman with your story about Klingon aphrodisiacs. As a result, Johnson received no booty that night,"  
"Oh, please," Jall said, "Like I was trying to steal his chicks!" The screen changed again. This time it showed T'Parief walking out of a side corridor at full speed, flattening Johnson completely. T'Parief walked on, unaware.  
"I thought I had felt something," T'Parief said.  
"You also left him completely out of your holiday celebrations," Sylvia went on.  
"He could have come!' Stafford said indignantly, "Although, considering what happened, he was probably better off hiding in his quarters,"  
"And there's more. Much more." Sylvia let the screen fade, "The point is that while none of you did any one thing to drive Johnson away, you all treated him like a complete outsider. You behaved as though he was not worthy to be part of your special little clique, so he left. One of the worst examples of disgusting, immature behaviour I have seen from any of you, and that includes the time Jall got the ship's hockey team drunk enough to take part in that game of Twister!  
"What?" Jall looked back and forth between Stafford and Jeffery, both of whom were looking at him with expressions of disgust, "It's a co-ed team! Everybody had fun!  
"We have a hockey team?" Wowryk asked Yanick.  
"Yes, they practice on Tuesdays," Yanick replied, "Ahhhh…athletes," she rubbed her hands together, then stopped when she saw T'Parief staring at her, "Uh, not that there's nothing wrong with security officers,"  
"OK, so we messed up," Stafford said, "Big deal. It's what we do. Now how do we avoid doing it again?"  
"You might try treating this new guy as part of the team," Sylvia suggested, "Especially if Tunney's told him about what happened to the last guy. He probably already thinks you're a bunch of assholes. Be nice. Be polite. Treat him like a member of the crew!" Sylvia frowned, "Correction: Treat him better than a member of the crew,"  
"Be polite," Stafford shrugged, "Sure, we can do that,"  
They waited for a few moments. Before long, Tunney returned with the same gold-collared man he had tried to introduce them to previously.  
"Ladies and gentlemen," Tunney said, "I would like to introduce Lt Cmdr. Riven Valtaic. Mr. Valtaic," Tunney paused, opened his mouth a couple of times as if to speak, paused again, then crossed his arms.  
"Good luck," he finally said, turning on his heel and walking away.  
Everybody stared at Valtaic. Now that they weren't vomiting, they had the chance to take a closer look at him. He looked almost human, about 5'10 or so, with very dark skin, bordering on maroon. The skin colour was unusual enough, but even more so was the network of fine black lines that covered his face, hands and presumably the rest of his body. They ran over his skin in a pattern than resembled blood vessels, however where veins and arteries had visible start and end points, the lines on Valtaic's body simply criss-crossed and rejoined, never seeming to start or end. They also had a slight gleam, almost metallic. His hair was short and very rigid, looking almost like a steel brush. His eyes were a bright yellow, with vertical cats-eye pupils. Yanick and Fifebee noticed that he appeared to have a fit, trim build, thought that was the standard in Starfleet. (Not that everybody met it, it seemed.) His fingernails were the same metallic black as the lines covering his skin. When he spoke his voice was low; not as soft as Noonan's calm, cool tones, but it managed to communicate that whatever else he might be feeling, Valtaic did not feel in any way threatened by the Silverado officers.  
"How are you this evening?" Valtaic asked politely.  
"We're fine," Stafford said, very carefully, "You're looking…well,"  
Valtaic's nostrils flared at this, but Stafford pressed on.  
"Um, I'm Captain Chris Stafford," Stafford said, extending a hand. After a moment's hesitation, Valtaic shook it, "This is Commander Jall, First Officer. Trish Yanick, helmsman,"  
"I'm a Lieutenant now!" Yanick said happily.  
"Er, Dr. Wowryk, Lt. Cmdr. Jane 5-B, Science Officer, Lt. Cmdr. Simon Jeffery, Chief Engineer,"  
"And still a Lt. Cmdr." Jeffery grumbled. Wowryk kicked him under the table.  
"And Commander T'Parief, Chief of Security,"  
"It is pleasant to meet you," T'Parief rumbled.  
There was awkward silence as Valtaic sat between T'Parief and Stafford.  
"I understand there were some problems with my predecessor," Valtaic said bluntly.  
Surprised, Stafford chocked on his tea.  
"Nothing major," he forced out, "Why?"  
"I make it a point in reviewing the success of any officer who's job I am about to undertake," Valtaic replied. He turned to Jall, "You performed very well in the Operations department, according to the logs,"  
"Did you try cross-referencing those with the disciplinary reports?" Jeffery asked.  
Stafford chuckled.  
"Hey, I got the job done," Jall said, crossing his arms.  
"That you did, that you did," Stafford said, plastering a big, fake smile on his face as he patted Jall's back in what was supposed to look like a friendly sort of way. In reality, it looked more like Stafford was being forced to pet a Klingon prickle-mouse.  
"Well, I hope you'll enjoy living on Silverado," Yanick said, beaming, "We have all kinds of neat stuff! Holodecks, of course, and a gym, and arboretum, and then there's Unbalanced Equations and Platterhead's, although we're supposed to call that 'Le Plateau Argente', but that just sounds too stuffy to me. And there are lots of people for you to meet! The guys on the night shift, the Hazardous Team, oh, and there's this really cute girl who works in Planetary Analysis that would probably like you,"  
"I see," Valtaic said shortly, "Well, if you'll excuse me, I will report to the ship. I presume quarters have been set aside for me?"  
"Oh," Stafford bit his lip, "Jeffery, has the cleaning crew been in there yet?"  
"Not yet," Jeffery said, "I'll get them on it right away,"  
"No need," Valtaic said stiffly, "I will manage it,"  
He stood and left, giving Stafford a nod.  
The Silverado officers exchanged uneasy glances.  
"That could have gone better," Fifebee commented.  
"You're telling me," Stafford said, slumping down in his seat.  
"I wonder what went wrong?" Yanick wondered.

INSTANT REPLAY!

"Ladies and gentlemen," Tunney said, "I would like to introduce Lt Cmdr. Riven Valtaic. Mr. Valtaic," Tunney paused, opened his mouth a couple of times as if to speak, paused again, then crossed his arms.  
"Good luck," he finally said, turning on his heel and walking away.  
I stood in front of the table, surveying the people with whom I would be working for the foreseeable future. Admiral Tunney had warned me that they were an eccentric group, however I had no doubt that whatever challenges they presented I would be able to overcome without difficulty. Tunney had warned me as well that as Silverado's mission was a long-term one, I would not be able to request re-assignment the way Johnson did. Johnson. Johnson was weak. I would persevere.  
Now, however, I was beginning to have my doubts.  
I let my gaze linger on each of the officers in turn. First was a human or human-looking male with reddish hair wearing Lt. Cmdr ranks pips. He was the shortest male at the table and kept shooting nervous glances at one of the females, a severe-looking woman with auburn hair and an aura of distaste around her. Nobody around him even seemed to notice this behaviour. Clearly, he desired her, but was unwilling to say or do anything about it. Pathetic. Another severe-looking female sat nearby, however her hair was pitch-black and pulled back in a severe bun. She also appeared to have several piercings in her face. She stared at me with an unblinking gaze, her entire body unmoving. She must be the hologram, then. A large, reptilian being was next. He had the look of a warrior: strong, fast and stupid. I doubted that the lining of ridges on his forehead (Klingon? Could he be a hybrid?) had adequately protected his brain from the numerous fights he had no doubt participated in.  
Next to him was a blond, human woman. She was short and petite, possessing of a figure that no doubt gave her uncommon control over the males of any species. Wouldn't she be shocked when I failed to succumb to her charms! Unconsciously, she was chewing on a strand of her hair. Disgusting. The last two beings were at least succeeding in looking somewhat professional. The taller of the two had black hair and skin that seemed to place him in one of the Middle Eastern or possibly Latino races of human. A strange cast to his features indicated he was most likely of mixed heritage. The absence of external structures told me his non-human parent had probably been Trill or a similar, human-like species. I recognized him as San Jall, the officer who had held the post of Operations Officer on Silverado previously. The final human was slightly shorter, yet still quite tall by human standards. He appeared to be fit, although there was a thickening around his midsection that indicated that he was either too busy or too lazy to continue the strict fitness regimen started at the Academy. He had short brown hair and Captain's pips. Ahh, so this would be my superior. The brave, clever and daring Captain. Hmm. He looked neither brave, clever nor daring.  
"How are you, this evening?" I asked politely.  
"We're fine," the Captain said, "You're looking…well,"  
Ugh. Human flattery, and human lies. I knew perfectly well they were anything but 'fine', having just returned from the station's infirmary. But, typically, they were too suspicious or ashamed to admit that they were anything but fit. And next, of course, was the attempt at flattery. I know perfectly well my appearance is not one that most humans find attractive, and yet he attempts to compliment me!  
As the Captain introduced the other officers, I was appalled to hear the blond woman interrupt him to brag about a promotion! And to make matters worse, when I inquired as to Johnson's departure, they skirted the issue! As though it didn't exist! The red-haired male had the audacity to complain, in front of the Captain, that he had not been promoted, and the female he desired kicked him! She actually made aggressive, physical contact! Why the Captain didn't immediately discipline her, I really have no idea!  
I was shocked. Admiral Tunney had warned me that these people were different, but such rudeness was something I had not encountered in several years! There had been minor issues when my race first opened relations with the Federation, but Starfleet was nothing if not thorough in training its officers to work with the cultures and customs of others.  
Perhaps I was expecting too much of them, I mused as Lieutenant Yanick prattled on about irrelevant items such as recreation and available females. (The insult, implying I could not locate a willing mate myself!) After all, not every crew could be as accommodating as those at my last posting. Plus, they were recovering from illness. Perhaps it would be best to retire and try again in the morning.  
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I will report to the ship," I said, "I presume quarters have been set aside for me?"  
"Oh," Stafford bit his lip, "Jeffery, has the cleaning crew been in there yet?"  
"Not yet," Jeffery said, "I'll get them on it right away,"  
WHAT? That was the last straw. These people are morons.  
"No need," I said stiffly, marshalling my self-control, "I will manage it,"

Captain's Log, Stardate 58684.6:

"We have departed Starbase 45 and are now en route to Waystation, where we will do whatever it is starships do at final departure points before heading off for Matrian space. Ensign, sorry, Lieutenant Yanick is hard at work updating the ship's entertainment library, in anticipation of the long, long, long trip we're going to have to make. Lt Cmdr Jeffery is watching over the engines like a hawk, worried about the strain sustained cruising is going to cause and Lieutenant Fifebee, sorry, Lieutenant Commander Fifebee is reviewing what new information Starfleet has on the Matrians. I told her I want a report by the time we get there, in another month or so, so why she's doing it now is beyond me.  
"Mr. Valtaic has been on board for only a couple of days now and has established himself as a decent operations officer. I think. He hasn't actually spoken to any of us outside of 'Yes sir', 'No sir,' and 'This ship does not meet standard Ambassador-class specs, sir'. Well, we've got a long time to get him figured out too."  
"In other news, Mr. Jall and the lesbian couple from Deck 7 attempted to boost moral by holding a 'Pride' parade the first morning after our departure from Starbase 45. Disappointment abounded all around when it turned out that the audience consisted of horny, straight men hoping to fulfill various fantasies involving themselves and a pair of naked lesbians. Also in attendance was one protestor, who was of course Dr. Wowryk. Officially, I'm delighted that Mr. Jall is making the effort to encourage diversity and equality among our crew."  
"Unofficially, the next person to prance around my ship to the sound of 'Abba' while wearing a speedo is going to be launched out a torpedo tube!"

"I hope you were paying attention," Stafford said to Jall as he turned off the log recorder.  
"Hmm?" Jall looked up, "I'm sorry, I was looking at the picket sign Dr. Wowryk gave me,"  
He held up a large piece of cardboard that said 'All Men Are Pigs And Deserve Each Other…But God Says That's Wrong. Get Married And Sleep With A Woman!'.  
"She gave it to you?" Stafford asked.  
"Well, no," Jall admitted, "When I told her what I had planned for next year's parade she dropped it and ran away screaming,"  
"Uh, well, I'm sure whatever it is, you'll conduct yourself with dignity," Stafford said, mentally crossing his fingers, "So, how about that weather?"  
A couple feet ahead of them, seating at the Ops panel, Valtaic sneered to himself. Clearly the Captain was very uncomfortable with some aspect of his First Officer's personal life but was unwilling to say so. He was the ranking officer, why he would bother to try to accommodate the petty needs of a subordinate just didn't make sense.  
"Well," Jall said, standing, "I'm due in Auxiliary Control."  
"Let Lieutenant Commander Ovens know that he keeps playing his television recordings on the bridge viewscreen by accident," Stafford said, not looking up.  
"Okie day," Jall acknowledge.  
"It's not by accident," Yanick confided quietly to Valtaic, "I asked him to do it,"  
"I see," Valtaic replied. His tone was polite, but he said nothing else. Yanick had tried hard to engage him in conversation, but had been completely unsuccessful. As a result, she found herself growing bored very quickly. She pulled out a magazine padd and started reading.

Later that evening, Stafford and Yanick had snuck off to go fishing in the holodeck. Naturally, T'Parief and Jall had tracked them down. Shortly after, Fifebee and Wowryk had turned up looking for Yanick.  
"Sylvia, can we get a bigger boat?" Stafford asked. He was sitting at the controls (the boat was too small to have a proper helm) and was being squished against the side by T'Parief's tail.  
"Hmm? You called?" Sylvia said, materializing in the already crowded boat.  
"Yeah, I called," Stafford said, shifting position in an attempt to get away from the tail, "Did you hear what I said?"  
"I was busy contemplating the mysteries of existence," Sylvia said, somewhat haughtily.  
"This craft is badly overloaded," Fifebee said.  
Giving up his efforts to be subtle, Stafford grabbed T'Parief's tail and shoved it away. The reptilian officer gave a grunt of surprise and tried to turn, knocking into Yanick, who fell onto Wowryk, who's elbow collided with the back of Stafford's head. With all the commotion, the already overloaded boat flipped to the side, spilling everybody into the lake as it capsized.  
"You know," Stafford sputtered as he and the rest of the senior staff treaded water, "This was supposed to be a quiet evening, just Yanick and I! And don't start any rumour mills, Fifebee, we're just friends!"  
"Perhaps a larger boat is in order?" Sylvia commented. Unlike the others, she and Fifebee's holographic avatars were standing on the surface of the lake.  
"You think?" Stafford asked.  
"Don't get snippy with me, Chris," Sylvia said. The holodeck shimmered, the officers finding themselves on a small yacht.  
"You really should call Jeffery and Valtaic down here," Sylvia said, "It would be a good bonding opportunity,"  
"This wasn't supposed to be a staff meeting, Sylvia!" Stafford said.  
"Well then, I'll just go my merry way," Sylvia said, her hologram vanishing.  
"I think we need to talk about Valtaic while we're all here, though," Yanick said, "We like, totally must have done something to piss him off. He definitely doesn't like me!"  
"Why do you say that?" Wowryk asked. As one of Yanick's closest friends, she was quickly becoming defensive on Yanick's behalf.  
"Well, we work right next to each other at the bridge, but he won't talk to me about anything," Yanick said, "I tried to get a conversation going, but he just gives these tiny little answers. It's like trying to get Chris to talk about his love life!"  
"You have a love life?" Jall asked Stafford.  
"Shut up," Stafford said bluntly.  
"I haven't had any problem with the new guy," Jall said, ignoring the order to shut up, "I haven't really spoken to him either, though,"  
"Well, maybe you should then," Yanick said, "Just don't, y'know, hit on him or anything,"  
"Why do people keep thinking that I'm going to-"  
"Good plan," Stafford inturrupted, nodding, "Jall, you're going to try to buddy up to Valtaic. Now, anybody who's not here to go fishing, go away!"

The following morning, Stafford sat in the Officers Mess (AKA 'La Plateau Argente', AKA 'Platterheads'). After his fishing trip with Yanick had been turned into an impromptu synchronized swimming event, he'd slept very well. So well, in fact, that he'd actually jumped out of bed that morning, nearly hitting his head on a shelf in the process. As he sat nursing a cup of coffee and reading through a report padd, Dr. Wowryk took the seat across from him, waving away the big-hatted Guinanco waiter who attempted to offer her life advice as she sat.  
"Good morning, Captain," Wowryk said.  
"Hey, doc," Stafford said, looking up, "How's it going?"  
"Well," Wowryk inclined her head, "I successfully exorcised a demon from Lieutenant Marsden's kitten yesterday afternoon,"  
"Really?" Stafford perked up, "We had a demon on board?"  
"Well, no," Wowryk admitted, "The cat was spooked when Ensign, sorry, Lieutenant Rengs' baby pulled it's tail. A simple sedative did the trick; however I felt it would be an excellent opportunity to demonstrate the power of God to Mr. Marsden,"  
"Things are getting that boring in Sickbay?"  
"You have no idea," Wowryk sighed, "Nurse Kerry and Nurse Veeneman setup a croquet court in Sickbay. And the scary part is, they're getting very good at it,"  
"Croquet?" Stafford frowned, "That's the sport where you hit balls through little hoops on the ground, right? What's so hard about that?"  
"One of the wickets is on top of a bio-bed," Wowryk said dryly.  
"Ohhh,"  
"Uh, mind if Ah join ye?"  
Stafford and Wowryk turned to see Jeffery standing near their table, a tray of breakfast in his hands.  
"Simon?" Stafford said, "Uh, sure! Yes! Please, sit! Man it's been ages since I've seen you in here!"  
"Simon," Wowryk said politely, nodding. Anybody who didn't know her would have found her greeting cold, but Stafford and Jeffery knew that coming from Wowryk those calm words were no different than when Yanick jumped up expecting a hug.  
"So, how are…things?" Stafford asked.  
"By which he means," Wowryk said, "What finally prompted you to come out of hiding?"  
"Subtle, doc," Stafford muttered.  
"Nay, she's right," Jeffery assured him. He turned back to Wowryk.  
"Ye see," he said, "Ah was thinkin' about the last time we were in Matrian space. When I was kidnapped by Mistress Laurette then stuck in Noel's body,"  
"Yes, that was a blast," Wowryk sighed.  
"And then, Ah started thinking about our trip to the other universe a year or so ago. Ye know, where Noel and I were married,"  
"And Jall was first officer," Stafford shook his head, "Man, I had NO idea that little piece of weirdness would be following us to this universe,"  
"And it kinda got me thinkin'," Jeffery went on, "We've been through a lot together, haven't we? Ah mean, Chris, the two of us knew each other on the Exeter, we've been hangin' years before ye became Captain here. But still, even if we fight, and argue, and bicker, we still respect each other, right?"  
Wowryk and Stafford exchanged looks.  
"Sure," Stafford said quickly.  
"Of course," Wowryk agreed, equally quickly.  
"So if Ah made a mistake during the first officer trials, which Ah know Ah did," Jeffery went on, "that's my business. And it's not gonna affect the way me shipmates treat me, is it?"  
"Hell," Stafford chuckled, "Jall will probably treat you better than ever, since your screw-up helped get him the position,"  
"Well, Ah gotta apologize to him for…other stuff," Jeffery admitted.  
"Well, you can't do it now," Stafford said, rising to his feet, "He's supposed to be figuring out what makes Valtaic tick. In fact, I'm just about to head up to the bridge and watch. You two want to come with?"  
"Sure," Jeffery replied.

Up on the bridge, Yanick and Fifebee had already tied the main viewscreen into the internal sensors. Jall and Valtaic were clearly visible and audible as they walked down one of the ship's many corridors, discussing ship's business. T'Parief was watching closely from his post, although whether he was watching for weakness from Valtaic or failure from Jall wasn't all that clear to Jeffery. Determined to be of some use, Jeffery sent the officer relieving Valtaic from the Operations console back to his regular duties and took over. Wowryk settled into Jall's chair, next to Stafford.  
"This is quite comfortable," she observed.  
"Jall had it reupholstered," Stafford grunted, "Something about not wanting to need a butt-lift in another 10 years,"  
"You should try it," Wowryk advised, standing. Looking somewhat uneasy, Stafford settled into Jall's chair.  
"You're right," he said, surprised, "It is more comfortable,"  
"I want it back, now,"  
"If you two are finished," Fifebee said, joining them in the command deck, "I believe Jall is about to start his 'investigation',"  
"So," Jall was saying, the back of his head visible on the screen, "Tell me about yourself, Valtaic,"  
"The blond woman at the helm made the same request," Valtaic said, "I found her attempt at comradeship shallow. Why do you wish to know?"  
"Hey!" Yanick gave the back of Valtaic's head a dirty look.  
"Lieutenant Yanick is friendly with everybody," Jall said, his tone a bit cold, "It's the kind of person she is. And I want to know because you're going to be my responsibility for the foreseeable future!"  
"I see," Valtaic said.  
"I wonder if he would've sounded so responsible if he didn't know we were watching," Wowryk said.  
"Somehow," Stafford said, surprising himself, "I think he might have,"  
"I was born on Lithinaria 4," Valtaic said, suddenly co-operative, "My planet only recently joined the Federation. I and 6 others of my people were the first of my race to graduate Starfleet Academy,"  
"Interesting," Jall said politely, "And where do you see your career going from here?"  
As the two of them talked, Stafford turned to Fifebee.  
"Fifebee, what did you find out when you looked up Lithinarians?"  
"I was supposed to look up Lithinarians?" Fifebee replied, puzzled.  
"Didn't Jall ask you to do that when he found out we were getting one on board?" Stafford asked.  
"No. I don't think we even knew what race Valtaic was until now," Fifebee said.  
"I haven't received his file yet in Sickbay," Wowryk said, "I was going to ask about that,"  
"Probably just backlogged paperwork," Stafford shrugged, "Can you look them up now?"  
"Of course," Fifebee said. Her eyes fluttered. "Hmm, I cannot find any record of them in my database, or the ship's memory,"  
"He's a hostile intruder!" T'Parief declared at once.  
"I am attempting a data link to Memory Alpha now," Fifebee stated, "Link established. Information located."  
"Oh," T'Parief said, disappointed.  
"So," Jall was saying on the screen, "What do you do in your spare time. Hobbies? Interests?"  
"Lithinarians," Fifebee recited, as though reading from a book, "Native to Lithinaria 4, a species rated at Richter H2.743.123g on the Richter Scale of Culture,"  
"I fail to see how my personal life is of relevance," Valtaic said coolly.  
"Excuse me," Jall said, a bit snidely.  
Wowryk and Stafford, trying to watch the conversation and listen to Fifebee at the same time, were puzzled. Valtaic had seemed very co-operative up to that point, why would he clam up?  
"The Lithinarians are a peaceful race," Fifebee continued, "Their last major conflict occurred 213 years ago, when they engaged in a civil war over whether their planetary government would be a republic or empire. The Republicans won. The Imperialists admitted defeat and the planet has been at peace ever since. Lithinarians are characterized by their dark red skin, which contains a grid of conductive minerals. This grid is connected to an organ in the chest cavity and allows them to sense energy fields to a great degree of accuracy. Hmm, a note: Never make unexpected physical contact with a Lithinarian,"  
"Why not," Wowyk asked, looking fascinated.  
"Oops, watch out," Jall said on screen. He and Valtaic came around a corner, nearly falling into an open panel in the deck where Ensign Naketh was working. Jall's hand shot out to stop Valtaic from stepping into the gaping hole. There was a flash and a loud BZZZTTT! Jall yelped and pulled his hand back, as if burned.  
"Because the same system allows them to create energy fields and discharges as well," Fifebee said, "As a reflexive defense mechanism. They are also resistant to phasers and can generate small personal shields for a very brief time, although the effort is exhausting,"  
"What the hell did you do that for?" Jall was demanding, "That hurt!"  
Stafford expected another harsh reply from Valtaic. He was surprised.  
"I am very sorry, Commander. It was unintentional," Valtaic's voice was apologetic, genuinely so.  
"Anything about their culture, Fifebee?" Stafford asked, a suspicion forming.  
"Plenty," Fifebee said, "In fact, it says, in big bold letters, 'Lithinarians find anything but complete and total honesty to be highly offensive. DO NOT tell falsehoods, DO NOT ask questions unless you genuinely wish to hear the answer, DO NOT fake pleasant emotions or attitudes'."  
"Soo…" Jeffery said from the helm, "The reason why he's been so pissed at us is because we were TOO polite?"  
"This is a first," Wowryk observed.  
"Tell me about it," Stafford said, suddenly understanding Valtaic's reactions. On screen, Jall had just asked Valtaic about his siblings and received another curt, cold answer in reply. Of course, he'd probably interpreted Jall's question as pointless small talk, completely irrelevant information that Jall had no reason to ask about. No wonder he and Yanick hadn't gotten along!  
"Indeed," Fifebee continued, "It seems Lithinarians find anything but complete honesty to be offensive. This encompasses all facets of their lives. Social small-talk must remain relevant, 'Public Relations' and 'Marketing' departments do not exist on their planet, and it is preferable for a female to inform a male that he is too inadequate a lover to bring her to orgasm than for her to fake one. Lithinarians also have a set of strict courtship rituals and as such find many of our own socialization customs to be quite irrelevant,"  
"Wow," Stafford said.  
"Um, question," Yanick said, raising her hand, "You said they find anything but honesty insulting?"  
"Yes," Fifebee nodded.  
"But what if our honesty IS insulting!?" Yanick said.  
"If that is the case, it is better for us to be insulting," Fifebee said.  
"At least our questions have been answered," Stafford said, "Stafford to Jall,"  
"Jall here-YEOWW!"  
The entire bridge crew winced as a loud feedback whine burst out of the bridge speakers. T'Parief quickly cut audio from the internal sensors.  
"Report to the conference lounge. Bring Valtaic with you,"

The senior staff was seated at the table when Jall and Valtaic arrived.  
"I was not aware we had a meeting at this time," Valtaic said.  
"We didn't," Stafford said.  
"We planned it last minute," Yanick said.  
Valtaic inclined his head and took a seat.  
"OK," Stafford said, "I'll be honest, Lt. Commander. Your record was held up in the Starfleet bureaucracy and none of us thought to check if your race had any special customs we should take into account when dealing with you,"  
"I see," Valtaic said, "I would have expected a group of Starfleet officers to be familiar with the customs of my people,"  
"Huh?" Jall asked, looking confused.  
Stafford started to turn red.  
"He's not trying to insult you, Captain," Fifebee reminded Stafford, "It's his way,"  
"Right," Stafford said, calming, "Look, we just found out you were Lithinarian when you told Jall. By the way, we were monitoring your conversation from the bridge,"  
"Why?" Valtaic asked, "That is a breach in privacy.  
"Because you were fitting in like a square peg in a round hole," Stafford said bluntly, "We were being as polite as we could, trying to avoid the mistake we made with Johnson. We had no idea you found our good manners offensive, and had to figure out what the deal was!"  
"Ah, I see," Valtaic actually smiled, "Then you weren't being deliberately insulting for the past few days?"  
"NO!" Everybody chorused.  
"I had thought," Valtaic said, "From the stories I heard from Mr. Johnson, that you all were such a tightly knit group that you resented having any new officers assigned to your ship,"  
"Tightly knit?" Jeffery looked shocked, "The rest of Starfleet thinks WE"RE tightly knit?"  
"No, no," Stafford waved a hand, ignoring Jeffery, "We're glad to have you aboard, and that is NOT false pleasantness. Although," he frowned, "don't expect a warm welcome from Lieutenant Day. You took the job he wanted,"  
"I see,"  
"So here's the deal," Wowryk spoke up, "Now that we know more about your culture, we're happy to make the effort to accommodate you,"  
"Especially since it means we all get to be our normal, rude, argumentative selves," Jeffery said.  
"But it works both ways," Stafford said, "Now, I know Starfleet is all about accommodating different cultures, but I don't want to see you giving anybody the cold shoulder because you thought they were too polite!"  
"I understand," Valtaic said, nodding.  
"Is it true that you can generate electric fields?" Yanick asked suddenly.  
"Yes," Valtaic said. He looked slightly annoyed, "Why do you wish to know?"  
"Because on Earth, guys and girls sometimes use electric thingies during sex," Yanick went on, not noticing the shocked looks on her comrades faces, "And Nurse Kerry has this funny electric glove that she says Shwaluk really likes,"  
"Even I had not heard of that one," Wowryk said, eyebrows uplifted.  
"I can electrify any part of my body," Valtaic said with a slight grin., willing to answer now that he knew Yanick had an actual reason for asking. (Silly as it was.)  
T'Parief rumbled with displeasure.  
"On that note, let's all go back to work," Stafford groaned.  
"Wait!" Jall cried as everybody else walked out the door, "Isn't anybody going to explain all this to ME?"

Captain's Log, Supplimental:

"Once again, not our finest hour. Any Academy applicant knows perfectly well that you have to research a new being's culture before you go offending them. But we forgot. In our defence his file should have arrived before he did. It's going to be a bit of an adjustment all around, but I'm confident that Mr Valtaic will find his niche on board,"

I stepped into Silverado's officer's lounge, a small plaque near the door labelling it as 'Unbalanced Equations'. I had not intended to make use of the ship's recreational facilities beyond what was needed for my own physical fitness; however the captain had suggested that I observe the customs of other officers. My previous commanding officers had been very respectful of my lack of interest in such activities, although as I stepped through the doors and noticed that many beings of various races, ages and genders were relaxing and apparently enjoying themselves, perhaps it would have been better if they had encouraged me to explore their culture rather than simply leaving me to my own.  
"Hey, over here," Commander Jall waved from the far wall. A series of comfortable chairs faced several large windows, looking behind the ship and out into space. Most of the senior staff had gathered there, though there was an empty seat.  
"I don't like that outfit," Lieutenant Yanick said, pointing at the casual civilian outfit I had donned for the evening, "It clashes with your eyes. You should wear something lighter,"  
I smiled.  
"I will keep that in mind," I said.  
"Wow," Yanick said, "I could get used to this total honesty stuff! Hey, Jall, grow your spots back. They look sexy,"  
"Uh," Jall looked around nervously at the other officers, "Spots? What spots?"  
"Have you ever gone fishing, Mr. Valtaic?" Stafford asked, "We were thinking of making our next trip a staff outing. You know, build the morale a bit."  
"My people avoid water," I replied.  
"No wonder," Jeffery said, "If Ah were a walkin' cattle-prod, Ah wouldn't want to go swimmin'!"  
At this I had to laugh.  
"It's holographic water!" Stafford said, "And I think it would be a good chance for us to get to know each other better. Not that that's necessarily a good thing,"  
"A little too much honesty there, Captain," Wowryk said dryly.  
"Should we tell him about the time you gave him a breast augmentation?" Jall asked Wowryk, "or maybe about the time he glued himself to his desk?"  
"See what your hyper-honesty thing has started?" Stafford said to me.  
His statement could have been interpreted as rude, but judging from the laughter of those around me, he intended it to be a joke. I laughed along with them, which appeared to be the reaction they were expecting.  
Adapting to this crew would be a challenge. However, it would not be as difficult as I had initially thought.  
"So," I said, attempting to mimic their cultural small talk, "Which of you are currently engaged in sexual relationships?"  
Everybody looked at me in shock, mouths dropping and complete silence taking hold of the group.  
Perhaps this would be more difficult after all!

End

And so Silverado is off to Matrian Space! But what trip to Matria would be complete without a quick stop at Waystation? Or better yet, a quick stop at Waystation when the commanding officer just happens to go missing? En route to you next with Silverado 4.6 – 'Meet Me Half-Way', guest-written by Alan Decker!


	6. Meet Me Half-Way

Star Traks: Silverado

4.6 "Meet Me Half-Way"  
By  
Alan Decker

The constant soothing rumble of the boat's engines was interrupted by the sound of heavy doors opening and closing. Captain Christopher Stafford sighed, put the craft on autopilot, and looked down from the flying bridge to see who was entering through the holodeck arch that had appeared on the aft deck of his cabin cruiser.  
It was Commander San Jall. Not that long ago the sight of Jall would have immediately put Stafford on edge, wondering just what amazing new way Jall would find to annoy the living hell out of him. But now that Jall was his First Officer, Stafford was finding that he could actually tolerate the man's presence for several minutes at a time without wanting to resort to physical violence.  
"Commander," Stafford shouted down after the holodeck doors closed and the arch vanished. "Come to relax for a bit?"  
"Not quite," Jall replied as Stafford descended the ladder to the rear deck. He handed a padd to his captain. "The Starbase 45 quartermaster is threatening to bring us up on charges if you don't verify that we received all of the supplies and crap that we brought on board while we were there."  
"I'm on the boat."  
"I can see that."  
"No, I'm on the boat. I don't work when I'm on the boat. No bringing me stuff that can be done later when I'm on the boat," Stafford said.  
"Considering you've been 'on the boat' for most of the last week, I didn't have much of a choice," Jall said. "No. Wait. I could just let Quartermaster Stick-Up-His-Ass file the charges and bring you down. Then I could be captain. Sorry I bothered you. Carry on, Sailor-boy."  
"Give me that," Stafford said, snatching the padd out of Jall's hands. "Stupid bunch of anal-retentive bean-counters and their stupid forms. There!" He shoved the padd back in Jall's hands. "Now I'm all tense again. Happy?"  
"Giddy as a schoolgirl," Jall said flatly. "I'll let you get back to your yo-ho-ho-ing."  
"That's pirates."  
Jall stared back at him blankly.  
"I'm not a pirate," Stafford continued. "This is not a pirate ship. This is a 32-foot cabin cruiser. That is not the Caribbean. That is a river."  
"And an oh-so-scenic one," Jall said as the boat sailed passed a couple of large box-shaped buildings.  
"This is what a real river is like," Stafford shot back. "Did you want something else, Jall?"  
"Not really."  
"Then have a beer and shut up," Stafford said, pointing at a cooler tucked up against the bulkhead. "Or feel free to leave."  
"Why the boat?" Jall said, not taking Stafford up on either of his offers.  
"What's wrong with the boat?"  
"Aside from the drab and boring parts?"  
"I like it."  
"We can tell. You've barely left. I just don't get it."  
Stafford was ready to shout something back at Jall along the lines of not caring if Jall got it or not, but he caught himself, sighed, and stepped over to the cooler, yanking two beers out.  
"I'm relaxing while I can," Stafford said, twisting open one of the caps and handing the open bottle to Jall. Jall grimaced at the offered beverage but took it anyway. "Hopefully everyone else is doing the same."  
"No more so than usual," Jall said after downing a sip. His grimace turned to an all-out wince. What was this swill?  
"The thing about heading out into the unknown is that it's unknown. You have no idea what you're going to run into. Could be a planet of talking unicorns and cotton candy trees. Could be a planet of two-meter tall rat-things that like to rip out your intestines and use them as party banners. You just don't know. It's not like cruising around the Federation delivering cargo and ferrying VIPs to a bunch of planets we know everything about. It's...unknown."  
"Um...is this about the mission?" Jall asked.  
"Yeah. Of course it's about the mission."  
"But we know where we're going. We've been there before."  
"That's exactly my point. We KNOW! And we KNOW it's not going to be a milk run. It will very likely suck...a lot. I can't say that to the rest of the crew because I'm captain and there's morale to think about, but come on, Jall. No one wants to go back to Matria. Doctor Wowryk, maybe, but nobody else! But there's nothing we can do. Orders are orders. So before we get to Matria and several months of hell, I am relaxing all I can. If you or anyone else care to join me, the boat's always open."  
"I'll keep it in mind. Sylvia, could I get the arch please?"  
"Here you go, dear," the voice of the Silverado's sentient computer system replied as the arch materialized.  
Jall took a last look around at the surroundings. An old Earth automobile was driving on the road running along the riverbank. Several rundown houses passed by. "You get back to your...um...relaxing."  
"You don't know what you're missing," Stafford said, settling onto a cushioned bench running along the side of the boat.  
"I'll let it keep its mystery," Jall said before stepped out into the corridor. Before the holodeck doors even had time to close, Lieutenant Commander Simon Jeffrey stepped through onto the boat deck.  
"Simon!" Stafford called out warmly. "You're just in time!"  
"Time? For what?" Jeffrey asked confused.  
"For beer!"  
"Er...maybe later. Ah need to talk to ye about the mission."  
"Looks like we're moving into a more populated area," Stafford said.  
"Sorry?"  
"More buildings," Stafford said, pointing at the shore beyond.  
"Where are we?"  
"Some river. Just started this one a little while ago. Third one today."  
"Sounds...nice. About the mission..."  
"Do we have to talk about this now?"  
"Ah'd really feel better about going back into Matrian space if we were a bit better prepared. What we took on at Starbase 45 was fine, but if we're really going to be out there alone, we need to be more than fine. We're going to be at Waystation in a few hours, and that's our last chance to get supplies before we're out of luck."  
"Is that the list?" Stafford asked, gesturing toward the padd in Jeffrey's hand.  
"Aye."  
"Let me see it," Stafford said resigned. He took the padd from Jeffrey and looked it over. Most of it was what he would expect: more torpedoes, backup phaser arrays, backup shield generators, additional replicator systems and raw material tanks. But then he hit...  
"Seventy-five casks of rum?"  
"Steven was worried about morale," Jeffrey explained. "If we lose replicators, he wants to make sure Unbalanced Equations is still able to serve us."  
"Rum gives me a stomach ache."  
"He knows. There's something on there for ye, too."  
"Wine coolers? Simon..."  
"Those are for Jall."  
"Oh. Okay. Vodka. Beer. Tequila. I hope Waystation's got a distillery on board."  
"So Ah can send the requisition request ahead?" Simon asked as the boat rocked a bit.  
"Yeah," Stafford replied. The boat was now getting bounced around pretty good. "Rapids? Here?"  
"Eh?" Jeffrey asked.  
"Rapids!" Stafford repeated loudly. It was getting hard to hear between the rumble of the engines and the growing roar of the...  
Wait. Growing roar? There shouldn't be a growing roar!  
Stafford scrambled up the ladder back to the flying bridge. The water was definitely rough...most likely due to the large drop-off up ahead. Stafford's head darted around. Even though the buildings were from a few centuries earlier, Stafford knew this place. And he knew exactly where the boat was heading:  
Niagara Falls.  
"End program!" Stafford said in a panic as Jeffrey reached the top of the ladder to the flying bridge and looked around.  
"Bloody hell!" Jeffrey shouted, barely audible above the din of the falls.  
"END PROGRAM! END PROGRAM! END! END! END!" Stafford cried.  
The boat reached the crest of the falls.  
"SYLVIA!" Stafford and Jeffrey screamed.  
The screaming continued all the way down.

FIVE HOURS LATER...

"I'm still wet."  
"It was holographic water. There can't be a drop left on ye."  
"I feel wet."  
"Did ye piss yourself?"  
Stafford glared at Jeffrey as the turbolift they were in continued on it ascent to the bridge.  
"Just asking," Jeffrey said, forcing back a chuckle.  
"I thought we were beyond this."  
"I was joking with ye."  
"Not you. Me and Jall. We've actually been creating something resembling a working relationship, and then he goes and pulls this."  
"Ye don't know that. Maybe ye picked the wrong river."  
Stafford's glare deepened. "I didn't pick the river. I've been running several of them. Jall knew that. He must have switched us to the Niagara after he left the holodeck."  
"But why?"  
"He likes to torment me."  
"Ah know that," Jeffrey said. "But he saw me going in. We get along fine. He could wait to torture you until after Ah left."  
If it had been physically possible, Stafford's glare would have left his face, traveled over to Jeffrey, and smacked him around a bit. Before Stafford had a chance to consider handling the job himself, the turbolift slowed to a halt and opened out onto the bridge.  
Stafford had made it about three steps when...  
"Captain!" Lieutenant Trish Yanick cried, leaping up from the helm console and racing over to him. "I heard what happened, and I'm SOOOO sorry!"  
"It was just a holodeck...accident," Stafford said, shooting a nasty glance at Jall, who was shifting from the command chair to his usual seat.  
"But I knew how much you liked that trip we took to Toronto and with you taking all of those river trips, I thought you'd like one in that area, and Niagara Falls is supposed to be really neat, so I snuck in a program sending you up to the falls, but I didn't realize that that river goes south to north and not north to south. Most rivers up there go north to south, so instead of taking you to the base of the falls, you went over them, and I'm REALLY sorry."  
Stafford processed the flood of words coming from Yanick for a moment. "Wait. That was your fault?"  
"Yeah. I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it, but..."  
"It's okay, Yanick," Stafford said, holding his hands up. "No harm done. That's why we have holodeck safeties. And some ships even have computers that actually end programs when they're told to."  
Sylvia materialized beside Stafford, her arms crossed disapprovingly. "I can't help you if I can't hear you. You're the one who got into trouble somewhere noisy."  
"It wasn't my idea!" Stafford said.  
Sylvia harrumphed and vanished.  
"Maybe I should just stay off of the holodeck," Stafford said  
"It does seem to get ye into trouble," Jeffrey observed. "And ye usually take me down with you."  
"Who's going down?" Jall asked, sounding way too chipper. He may not have been responsible for Stafford's trip over Niagara Falls, but he was certainly enjoying it.  
"Are we there yet?" Stafford asked, ignoring his first officer.  
"About five more minutes, sir," Yanick said, sliding back into her seat at the conn.  
"All stations prepare for docking," Stafford said. "T'Parief, hail Waystation."  
"They are responding," the deep voice of Silverado's tactical officer replied a few moments later from Commander T'Parief's post behind the command area.  
Stafford quickly stood up, straightened his uniform, and ran his fingers through his hair to give it that slightly ruffled yet controlled look he thought made him look his best. He wanted to be ready when he saw Waystation's commanding officer, Captain Lisa Beck, again. The last time Silverado visited, Beck may have gotten the wrong idea about him after one of their conversations. Actually Stafford hadn't been involved in said conversation. His body was, but it was being occupied by Yanick at the time, thanks to the after-effects of their first mission to Matria.  
"On screen," Stafford ordered, now appropriately quaffed. The warm "Hello, Captain Beck!" he was planning died on his lips as the starfield image on the viewscreen was replaced with the face of Waystation's male first officer, Commander Walter Morales. Stafford immediately deflated.  
"Waystation, this is Captain Chris Stafford of Silverado requesting docking clearance," he said flatly.  
"Acknowledged, Silverado. You are clear for docking at Arm Four," Morales replied.  
"Four? We usually park at Arm Three?"  
"Are they complaining?" a female voice asked from off-screen. Captain Lisa Beck stepped into view. "Stafford, do you think we keep a parking space reserved for you? You can't use Arm Three. We've got a yacht docked there that's too big to fit into Waypoint Harbor."  
"Waypoint wha?"  
"Obviously you don't talk to your relatives."  
"My relatives?"  
"Don't ask," Beck said. "Now are you going to give me a hassle about Arm Four?"  
Stafford grinned. "No, Captain. The change of scenery will be nice."  
"Oh yeah. That side of the station gets all the best views," Beck replied, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted to let you know that Starfleet Command routed their response to your request for additional supplies to me."  
"Excellent," Jeffrey said, moving down beside Stafford. "How long will it take to get everything to us?"  
"No time at all," Beck said.  
"Ah wouldn't have minded a delay, but we'll take it all the same."  
"It's no time at all because they refused your request," Beck said.  
"Refused?" Jeffrey said angrily. "How could they..."  
"Calm down, Simon," Stafford said. "I'm sure we can get together with Captain Beck and discuss it."  
"You could, but it won't help," Beck said. "This came straight from Fleet Admiral Ra'al's office. It wasn't my call."  
"True," Stafford said slowly, his mind racing for a legitimate excuse to meet with Beck, "but we could..."  
"You could slow down before you hit my station," Beck said quickly.  
"Oh! Sorry!" Yanick said, quickly turning her attention back to the conn. "I was busy watching you two flirt."  
"We were not flirting!" Beck said firmly. "Waystation out!" Beck's face vanished and was replaced by an eternal view of Waystation.  
And it was really really close!  
"Yanick!" Stafford cried, diving back into his seat to brace himself.  
"We're stopping! Sheesh!" Yanick said. The Silverado had indeed come to a halt. Right next the station, judging by the viewscreen, which was looking right into a set of quarters on Waystation where a wide-eyed man in a Starfleet uniform was staring back at them in stunned terror.  
"All stop," Yanick reported, back to her usual cheery self.  
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Stafford said.  
"Oooh!" Yanick exclaimed with a clap.  
"Lieutenant?"  
"Ooooh!"  
"She likes it when you say her new rank," T'Parief explained.  
"I'm getting that," Stafford said. "Well...Yanick, would you please back us off a little and bring us around to docking arm four."  
"Yes, sir," Yanick said. Gradually, the Ambassador-class starship pulled away from Waystation's lower saucer, then rose in a spiral toward the docking arms, passing an Andorian cruiser and an impressive yacht before arriving at Arm Four, which had been extended from the station's upper saucer. There was an almost imperceptible jolt as the ship came to a halt and the airlock at the end of the docking arm sealed against Silverado's gangway hatch.  
"All right, everyone," Stafford said. "You've got two days until Starfleet wants us out of here. Make the most of them."  
The bridge crew secured their stations and started for the turbolifts. As Jall moved to get up from his chair, Stafford held up a hand to stop him. "A word, Commander?"  
"What is it?" Jall asked conspiratorially. "Are we here for more than just a layover?"  
"No."  
"Then I've got to go. Waystation is awaitin'"  
"Ahhh...I'm going to need you stay here," Stafford said.  
"Here? What the hell for?" Jall demanded before adding a forced, "sir."  
"We're expecting deliveries."  
"No, we aren't. Starfleet didn't approve the requisition."  
"For the additional supplies. True. But we're still getting the subspace relay, and...some other things. Since you're First Officer, personnel and supplies are in your purview. That means you get to take delivery."  
"Fine! I'll be here when the boxes arrive. When is that going to be?"  
"The items should be here between the hours of 0600 hours today and 1900 hours tomorrow."  
"THAT was the delivery window they gave you?"  
"At least they narrowed it down a little," Stafford said, getting up and heading toward the turbolift. "The ship is yours, Commander."  
"Yee-fucking-haa," Jall muttered, slouching deeper into his chair.

"Have you ever been to Waystation?" Yanick asked as she strolled along the lower concourse of Starfleet Square Mall, the two-story shopping venue in Waystation's upper saucer.  
"No," Lieutenant Riven Valtaic replied. This was not a "No" that translated to "No, but I'm really excited to be here," or "No. Do you want to make something of it?" This was a strictly-informational "No," with just a hint of "Why are you asking me this?"  
The bigger question for Valtaic was why Yanick was there to ask him the question at all. The Lithinarian had joined Silverado at Starbase 45 as a replacement for the departed Lieutenant Commander Johnson at Operations, and after the initial attempts by the crew to get to know a little about him, he had expected to be allowed to do his job and spend his free time as he saw fit.  
Lieutenant Yanick, however, was not to be denied. She seemed determined to befriend him and, in this case, show him around Waystation, whether he or her hulking hybrid boyfriend, T'Parief, liked it or not.  
Judging by the deep scowl and crossed arms T'Parief was displaying at the moment as he walked with them, Valtaic could only conclude that he was on the side of not liking the current state of affairs.  
Valtaic, as was the nature of his species, had been completely honest to Yanick that he did not need nor did he desire companionship during his visit to the station. Somehow Yanick seemed to believe that "Don't be silly" was a sufficient counter-argument to this and practically shoved him to the head of the line of Silverado crew that had been lined up to disembark from the ship through the gangway, bumping many of them as he went. His growing irritation caused a reflexive electric surge (another part of his species' nature) as he bumped into Ensign Dar'ugal, effectively turning the hair-covered Baruda officer into a giant red puffball from the resulting static electricity.  
Now out of the ship and in the mall, Valtaic had hoped that Yanick might either take the hint or grow bored and leave him in peace. Obviously, though, he had underestimated her enthusiasm and her never ending supply of pointless babble.  
"...and that's Nandegar's Secret. Pari and I like that store, don't we, Pari?"  
T'Parief grunted.  
"He's shy about these things, but it's a great place. They even sell stuff for men. There had this really cool pair of tear-away bikini briefs that I bought for Jall's birthday when we were here last time. And they had this shimmering fabric that... OOOH! The hoverrink!" Yanick pointed excitedly down the concourse at Waystation's anti-gravity skating facility. "Have you ever been hover-skating? You've got to go! Come on!"  
Without a thought that Valtaic might refuse, Yanick grabbed his arm with one hand, T'Parief's with the other, and dragged them both with surprising force to the hoverrink entrance.  
A short time later, Valtaic was starting to wonder if Yanick had some powers of her own. Despite the fact that he had never hover-skated and had no interest in ever hover-skating, there he was, fumbling along the hoverrink, put there seemingly by the mere force of Yanick's will. Unfortunately her will did not have the ability to teach him to hover-skate. Rather than skating, he was shuffling along, certain that at any moment, he would topple over, leaving his anti-grav-skated feet high in the air while his head and everything else hit the rink.  
Even more aggravating was that fact that T'Parief, whom Valtaic expected to be suffering as much as he was, was currently gliding alongside Yanick with graceful ease. A spark of irritation flashed on his forehead. Whereas for some people this spark would be figurative, for Valtaic is was quite literal.  
Several more mini-electric bursts erupted across his skin as he struggled through another lap.  
"You're doing great!" Yanick exclaimed as she and T'Parief sailed by again, hand-in-hand.  
That was the breaking point. The humiliation of this public display of his lack of skating ability was bad enough, but then Yanick had to come by with that dishonest attempt to encourage him. Unable to control his rage anymore, Valtaic released a huge blast of power.  
This was a bad idea.  
The electrical force surged into his hover-skates, increasing their anti-grav effects by an order of magnitude, the effect of which sent him rocketing skyward like...well...a rocket.  
"OH!" Yanick cried. "I'm sorry! I meant you stink at this! You really stink!"  
But it was far too late. Valtaic sailed upward in a long arc, past the railing of the food court on the upper level of Starfleet Square Mall and out over the main concourse two decks below him. Actually, it was a bit more than two decks considering the mall's high ceilings and the altitude he was gaining in flight. It hardly mattered, though. All Valtaic could think in panicked thoughts was that landing was going to hurt.  
A lot.  
He reached the apex of his flight and began his descent. The situation being what it was, Valtaic resorted to the only course of action available to him: screaming.  
Before he even made it halfway back down, a pair of strong arms locked around his waist from behind.  
"I've got you," a deep female voice said in his ear as his plummeting stopped.  
"You've got me?" Valtaic said in shock. "Who's got you?"  
"Don't do that."  
"What?"  
"Just don't."  
Seconds later, he touched down gently onto the deck of the lower mall concourse and was released by his savior. Valtaic spun around and found himself staring into a pair of large round eyes. The eyes belonged to a woman of an avian species wearing a Starfleet uniform modified to fit her frame.  
"You are unharmed, I trust," the woman said through a beaked mouth as the pair of golden feathered wings on her back folded up behind her.  
"Y-y-y-yes," Valtaic stammered. Whoever this creature was, she was magnificent!  
"Good. Whatever you did, don't do it again. It was stupid and would, under most circumstances, have gotten you killed."  
Magnificent, and honest! Brutally so!  
"Thank you!" Valtaic said, extending his hand to her. "I am Riven. Riven Valtaic, at your service."  
"Doctor Diantha," the avian replied, eying him coolly. She finally accepted his outstretched hand. In his excitement at touching her, a reflexive zap of energy flowed out of his hand. Instantly, she jerked her hand back, several fried feathers from her wrist dropping to the deck as she did so.  
"I am so sorry!" he said horrified.  
"I would hope so," Diantha said, giving him one last glare before she strode off in the direction of Waystation's infirmary.  
Valtaic sighed as he watched her go. What a woman!

"Did ye see that?" Jeffrey exclaimed turning to his dining companions at the table in the food court of Starfleet Square Mall. "Leapt right over the railing, she did! And those wings!"  
"She is a Keetooan," Doctor Noel Wowryk said unimpressed. "Wings are a natural part of her species. If something like that can be called natural."  
"Looks like she saved Valtaic," Captain Stafford said, craning his neck to see what was transpiring on the lower concourse. "Guess you won't have to patch him back up after all, Doctor."  
"I would leave that for the Waystation medical personnel," Wowryk replied.  
"Your concern for the crew is touching."  
"I am on leave."  
"It's a layover. Not a vacation."  
"Can we talk about our real problem?" Jeffrey asked.  
"We have a real problem?" Stafford said.  
"The extra supplies."  
"I don't think that a lack of liquor qualifies as a real problem, Simon," Wowryk said.  
"It wasn't just that. We need more weapons..."  
"So you can kill more effectively? There are other ways."  
"And the extra raw materials for the replicators..."  
"So the crew can be even more gluttonous?"  
"And the medical supplies..."  
Wowryk paused. "Those could be useful."  
"Particularly after we get shot to hell because we don't have enough torpedoes," Stafford said, drawing a glare from the doctor. "I mean heck. Shot to heck. Sorry. But I don't see what we can do about it. When the Fleet Admiral says no, the answer is no."  
"Unless we go over her head," Jeffrey said with a hint of a grin.  
"I'm listening," Stafford said, leaning in conspiratorially.  
"Well, it occurs to me that there's someone on this very station with a wee bit more power than a Fleet Admiral."  
"President Dillon," Stafford said, understanding.  
"Operation Salvage was his pet project," Jeffrey continued. "It'd be in his interests to help us out."  
"I love it! Let's go see him!"  
"You're joking, right?" Wowryk said. "You can't honestly think that you'll be able to see THE President Bradley Dillon just because you want to? A man of his stature and importance has far more important things on his mind than your petty supply requisition. He is the leader of our government! A captain of industry! A truly magnificent example of humanity sent by the grace of God to lead us!"  
Stafford and Jeffrey exchanged a look.  
"Um...so you're a fan then?" Stafford said.  
"Ah think she's got a crush," Jeffrey said.  
"I do not!" Wowryk protested. "I just give my leaders the respect they deserve!"  
"That's news to me," Stafford said.  
"Respect they DESERVE," Wowryk repeated. "And Bradley Dillon has dignity and strength that neither of you will ever understand. I have every faith that the people of the Federation see that in him, and that the Lord will ensure that he will be re-elected easily."  
"If he bothers to show up for the next debate," Stafford muttered. The President, who was currently embroiled in a rather heated campaign for re-election against Kathryn Janeway, had missed the first scheduled debate between the candidates several weeks ago. No one was sure why Bradley Dillon had been absent, but people were more than happy to fill in the gaps with rampant speculation. The President's lead in the polls had taken a serious hit from the event, though, and was only beginning to recover slightly thanks to his extermination of a possibly-threatening nanite species that had attacked Waystation a short time before Silverado's arrival.  
"You will see, Captain," Wowryk said, crossing her arms disapprovingly. "You will see. Bradley Dillon WILL be President again!"  
"Uh huh," Stafford replied distractedly. His attention had been drawn to the tall redhead currently exiting the Beanus Coffee Hut at the edge of the food court. "You two figure it out. I...gotta go." And with that, Stafford was up and running.  
"So Ah'm betting ye would love to meet our wonderful president," Jeffrey said to Wowryk once Stafford had gone.  
"Of course I would, but..."  
"Excellent! Let's go to his office!"  
"Simon! You can't..."  
"Why not? The worst that can happen is that we won't get in to see him. But at least ye will have been there. And who knows, ye might even catch a glimpse of the man in person."  
She thought about this for a moment. "Oh, all right. It won't hurt to try."  
"That's the spirit." Jeffrey said as they stood up from the table.  
Wowryk suddenly turned on him. "But if I get to talk to President Dillon, you stay away. Understand?"  
Jeffrey sighed. "Aye. Ah understand."

Down the concourse, Stafford jogged up to his coffee-carrying quarry: Captain Lisa Beck. "I was hoping I would run into you," he said as casually as possible as he fell into step beside her.  
"Then you should have been a foot to the left," Beck said.  
Stafford frowned. "A foot to the..."  
"If you'd been a foot to the left when you ran up, you would have actually run into me and...never mind. I've should just leave the snappy comebacks to Porter. And you should find another conn officer. You almost hit my station."  
"Yanick's gotten a lot better," Stafford protested.  
"Tell that to Ensign Shust. She about put him in the Infirmary when she stopped your ship outside his quarters. JUST outside his quarters."  
"There was no real damage done."  
"Except to Shust's pants. Look, Captain..."  
"Chris," Stafford corrected.  
"Chris, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got an appointment I'm almost late for, and I absolutely cannot be late."  
"But you can't be late. This is your station. Whenever you show up is on time."  
"Tell that to Madam M'szousaklos."  
"Greek?"  
"Medusan. She runs the spa, and she doesn't care who I am. If I'm five seconds late, I lose my slot, and I've been waiting for an appointment with their new masseuse for months."  
"A Medusan masseuse. Huh."  
"Actually this one is from somewhere else. Somewhere exotic. I don't remember where. But it means I could skip the blindfold during the appointment if I wanted. Not that I would. It's nice to shut the universe out sometimes, don't you think?"  
"Yeah," Stafford said, thinking back to his holographic boat. "It is...until the falls."  
"What?"  
"Nothing. I don't want to make you late..."  
"No, you don't," Beck said flatly.  
"But I think you may have gotten the wrong idea last time we were here."  
"I didn't get any ideas," Beck said as they reached the entrance to the spa. "I've got to go."  
"Oh. Okay. I'll see you later then."  
"Yeah. Sure," Beck said noncommittally as she stepped through the doors. "Enjoy your visit."  
"I like girls!" Stafford shouted after her, stopping all mall traffic around him. "I mean women! I love women! Love them!"  
Beck smiled weakly. "A little less desperate next time," she said, then disappeared into the spa as Stafford gathered up the shreds of his dignity and retreated off down the concourse.

While Dillon Enterprises took up three full decks of Waystation, finding Bradley Dillon's office suite was incredibly easy. It was the only section of the decks that allowed unauthorized visitors to even step out of a turbolift.  
Even then, the area wasn't exactly inviting, what with blue-suited agents of the presidential security team, the Special Secret Section, stationed everywhere. Ignoring the suspicious glares of the agents, Jeffrey and Wowryk entered the lobby area of President Dillon's office suite, where his personal assistant, Gisele, sat at a massive desk that seemed more like a command console than a work area.  
"...in a meeting at the moment," Gisele was saying into the comm piece fitted into her ear. "I will certainly let him know that you commed, Chancellor...Oh yes, he did receive your birthday gift, and he thanks you very much. I believe he said that it's his first bat'leth...Quapla to you as well. Goodbye!"  
Gisele turned her attention to the newcomers. "May I help you?" she asked sweetly.  
"Ye certainly can," Jeffrey said, smiling as broadly as possible. "We were hoping that we might be able to have a word with President Dillon."  
"Do you have an appointment?"  
"Ahhh well...we just arrived, ye see, and we thought..."  
"Not to be rude, Lieutenant Commander..."  
"Jeffrey. Simon Jeffrey. And this is Doctor Noel Wowryk. We're with the USS Silverado."  
"Uh...huh," Gisele said frowning. "Well, Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey, as you can well imagine, President Dillon is an exceptionally busy man."  
"Of course he is," Wowryk said. "He is single-handedly leading the Federation while also running one of the greatest business enterprises in the quadrant. We're sorry to have bothered you. Come ON, Simon."  
"But..." Jeffrey began  
"We tried. We're done."  
The set of dark wooden doors off behind Gisele's left slid open, clearing the way for a leggy blond in a matching skirt and suitcoat to come storming out of President Dillon's office.  
"I think I saw him!" Wowryk exclaimed, craning her neck to get a better view just as the doors closed.  
"Enjoy it while you can," the woman who had just joined them muttered. She stopped, looking Wowryk and Jeffrey up and down. "Gisele, what are they doing here?" she demanded.  
"They wanted to see Mister Dillon, but they didn't have an appointment, Ms. Lymon."  
"Donna Lymon. Campaign manager," the woman said crisply, extending a hand to Jeffrey and then to Wowryk. "Either of you ever serve under Kathryn Janeway?"  
Jeffrey and Wowryk shook their heads.  
"Too bad," Lymon said. "We'll have to figure out something else. Here," she pulled two "Re-Elect Bradley Dillon" buttons out of her pocket and handed them to the Silverado officers before striding out of the office.  
"So...is he available now?" Jeffrey asked.  
"No," Gisele said.  
"We'll be going now," Wowryk said. "Thank you for your time."  
"You're welcome. Have a good day!"  
"Did she just kick us out?" Jeffrey asked once they were out in the hall.  
"We shouldn't have been there in the first place," Wowryk said.  
"Ah well," Jeffrey said, ignoring Wowryk. "At least she was sweet about it. But the direct approach obviously isn't going to work."  
"I told you as much," Wowryk said as the pair stepped into the elevator. "Wait. You're not going to try something else, are you?"  
"Ah am."  
"Like what?"  
"Ah have absolutely no idea."  
"Keep it that way."

For the rest of the day and into the evening, Jeffrey did exactly that, not that he was too happy about it. Unfortunately, the President of the Federation was not somebody that you just happened to run into.  
Worried that Jeffrey was becoming a wee bit obsessed with stalking President Dillon, Captain Stafford dragged the engineer along with him that night to Waystation's dance club, The Gravity Well.  
"This is nice," Jeffrey said as they sat in one of the circular booths along the wall watching the action on the dance floor. "Thanks for bringing me. Now why am Ah really here?"  
Stafford sputtered into his drink. "Wha...what do you mean?" Stafford coughed.  
"Ye haven't looked at me or Noel since we sat down with ye," Jeffrey replied. "Ye have, however, been watching the door."  
"Do you wish to leave, Captain?" Dr. Wowryk asked before taking a sip of her Virgin Bloody Mary. "It would certainly be the sensible thing to do considering this display of...debauchery."  
"There's been debauchery?" Stafford asked, his head whipping toward the dance floor. "Where? Did I miss it?"  
Wowryk began muttering under her breath. Stafford couldn't make any of it out over the thumping music, but he was fairly certain the words "disgusting male" were involved. He looked back toward the entrance.  
"And he's looking at the doors again," Jeffrey said.  
"Sorry," Stafford said, not that there was a hint of real apology in his voice or any attempt to stop watching the doors.  
"Does this have anything to do with why you ran off at lunch?" Wowryk asked.  
"No...yes...maybe a little. I was looking for Captain Beck."  
"Will she be looking for ye as well?" Jeffrey asked.  
"I don't know. Maybe. I doubt it."  
"Using the old Stafford charm, eh?"  
"Trying."  
"And it's working about as well as usual," Jeffrey said.  
"Thanks. Very encouraging."  
"Well, while ye're off chasing the station commander, we've been trying to supply the ship."  
"Don't make it sound like I'm neglecting my duties," Stafford said. "We're fully stocked."  
"You were all for this at lunch."  
"Until his hormones took over," Wowryk said.  
"I'm still all for it," Stafford said. "I just...trust you to handle it."  
"Of course ye do," Jeffrey replied sarcastically. "But we could use yer advice on how to best chase down the leader of the free quadrant."  
"What is he doing here?" Stafford demanded suddenly, watching the entrance.  
"The President is here?" Wowryk exclaimed, practically climbing over Stafford to get a view.  
"Not Dillon. Jall," Stafford spat. Sure enough, Silverado's First Officer was dancing his way to their table, decked out in a loose fitting light blue silk shirt and skin-tight white leather pants.  
"And a good evening to you all," Jall said smiling.  
"You're supposed to be on the ship, Commander," Stafford said.  
"I was. Now I'm not. Mission accomplished."  
"The deliveries...?"  
"Signed for and stowed away. Even your special box."  
"Ye got a special box?" Jeffrey asked Stafford.  
"Even the subspace relay?"  
"It's aboard. It's all aboard," Jall said. "And I even tipped the delivery man." Jall grinned. "Or he tipped me, if you know what I'm saying."  
"Can I pretend really hard that I don't?" Stafford said grimacing.  
"Something really hard was indeed involved."  
"Okay!" Stafford shouted, holding up his hands. "I don't want to hear any more. Thank you for your service."  
"Someone got serv..."  
"ENOUGH! GO!"  
"Aye aye, Captain," Jall said. "You all watch the zero gravity part of the dance floor. If you think I've got great moves normally, just wait until you see me fly!" Mercifully, Jall did what he was told, leaving Stafford, Jeffrey, and Wowryk alone.  
"Can we get back to President Dillon?" Jeffrey asked.  
"Vat about President Dillon?" Counselor Yvonnokoff had just stepped up to the table.  
"Nothing, Counselor," Stafford said with a sigh. "Did you need something, or are you here to counsel us to have more fun?"  
"I saw Mister Jall arrive. You told me he vould be vatching for my subspace relay!" Yvonnokoff said.  
"It's on board. And, just to clarify, it's not YOUR relay. We will all be using it to communicate with Command while we're in Matrian space."  
"But The Vonna Show..."  
"Will broadcast," Stafford said. "We wouldn't want to disappoint your audience of...whatever people watch your show."  
"Many people vatch my show!" Yvonnokoff said in a huff. "If they did not, do you think I vould be able to get President Dillon as a guest?"  
"Dillon is going to be on yer show?" Jeffrey exclaimed.  
"Yes. That is vy I asked vat you ver saying about him. I vanted to make sure nothing had happened to alter his plans for tomorrow."  
Wowryk was near apoplectic. "He...you...You're going to be interviewing President Dillon! In person!"  
"Yes. He is evidently a fan."  
"Kind of knocks yer opinion of him down a bit, eh Noel?" Jeffrey said.  
"Shut it, Simon!" Wowryk turned back to Yvonnokoff. "This is just a way for him to reach more voters. I am sure that he has better things to do than watch you counsel the hopeless."  
"The hopeless?" Yvonnokoff said. "So you vill be calling in tomorrow then?" She and Wowryk glared at each other for a moment, then Yvonnokoff spun on her heel and strode off into the crowd.  
"Ye could have maybe been a little nicer, Noel," Jeffrey said. "She might have invited us to see the show in person."  
"I don't care."  
Jeffrey sighed. "Of course ye don't. But at least we know where President Dillon is going to be at some point tomorrow. All we have to do is catch him on his way in or out."  
"Take a big net," Stafford said.  
"Are you trying to get us killed by the Special Secret Section?" Wowyk said.  
"I was joking!"  
"Well, stop! I'm going to bed. Good night!" Wowryk slid out of the booth and stormed out of the dance club.  
"What's with her?" Stafford asked.  
"Not sure," Jeffrey said. "Ah think she might be jealous."  
"Of Yvonnokoff?"  
"Aye."  
"That, my friend, is sad. Truly sad," Stafford said, taking a sip of his drink.  
Jeffrey, who was trying not to think about Wowryk mooning over Bradley Dillon, forced himself to nod. "Aye. Sad."

"Chris? Chris. Wake up, dear."  
"Unnnh. What do you want, Sylvia?" Stafford groaned from under his blanket.  
"There's a comm for you from Commander Morales on the station," Silverado's matronly computer replied.  
"Take a message."  
"He says he needs to speak to you now; otherwise, I would have let you sleep. I'm sure you need it considering how late you were out last night. 0300 hundred hours? Really, Chris. You're the captain."  
"Just put him through!" Stafford snapped, cutting Sylvia off as he yanked himself to a sitting position and pulled the small desk console on his nightstand around so he could see it. The Federation logo on the console screen switched to show Commander Walter Morales standing in Waystation's Operations Center.  
"Captain Stafford," Morales said. "We need you in Ops, sir."  
"Now? What for?"  
"We've got a security situation, Captain."  
Stafford jolted alert at Morales' words. "I'll be right there," he said. "Stafford out." He had no clue what was going on, but "security situation" never connoted anything good. And if Morales wanted Stafford, it had to be something to do with Silverado, which was also not good. On the bright side, it would give him another excuse to speak to Captain Beck.  
First, though, he had to look and act like a professional.  
"Sylvia, have T'Parief meet me at the gangway in five minutes," he said, heading into his sonic shower. "Looks like Captain Beck needs our help."  
"Don't get your hopes up, dear."

There she was.  
Sitting alone at a table in the food court. This was the perfect opportunity.  
For some people, the next step would be to buy breakfast at one of the various food court eateries and use that as an explanation for their presence in the food court. That sort of subterfuge was considered completely unnecessary by Lieutenant Valtaic, however. In fact it never even crossed his mind.  
Instead, he stepped right up to Dr. Diantha's table and, without preamble or greeting, sat down across from her.  
"I hoped I would find you here this morning," he said.  
"And you did," Diantha said, seemingly nonplussed by his abrupt arrival.  
"I have thought about you a great deal since our encounter yesterday, and I would like to take you to dinner."  
"You are suggesting a date."  
"I am."  
"No."  
"Very well." Valtaic rose quickly from his head and headed off down the concourse, stealing a look back at Diantha as he went. Somehow after rejecting him, she seemed even more magnificent.

T'Parief stared down at Stafford as the two of them rode the turbolift up to Ops. He hadn't spoken for several seconds.  
"What?" Stafford demanded finally. "I told you all I know!"  
"That is exactly my problem. This is a security situation," T'Parief said.  
"That's what Morales told me."  
"And you didn't ask for the details."  
"I was in a hurry."  
"But it involves us."  
"I guess so. Why else would Morales comm me?"  
"I am not aware of any security situations involving Silverado or Silverado personnel," T'Parief said.  
"Then this will be news to both of us," Stafford said. The turbolift slowed to a stop, and the doors opened, allowing Stafford and T'Parief to step out into Waystation's command center.  
The turbolift shaft was at the center of the circular Ops, and, upon exiting, the first thing visible was the large window looking out into space. The window frame was also the frame of the holographic viewscreen, which covered the stars outside whenever it was activated. Off to the right was the Operations and Science console, which was manned by Lieutenant Commander Craig Porter, and beyond it was the door to Captain Beck's office, partially obscured by the curve of Ops. To the left was the Docking Control console, manned by Commander Morales, and the Tactical console, where Lieutenant Commander Sean Russell stood, beyond which lay the entrances to the Ops briefing room and the head.  
Stafford was met by Morales as soon as he left the turbolift. "Captain," he said quickly.  
"Commander Morales," Stafford replied with a nod. "This is Commander T'Parief, my Chief of Security. What's going on?"  
"We have a bit of a situation," Morales began.  
"So you've said," T'Parief replied.  
"Captain Beck is missing."  
"She's what?" Stafford exclaimed.  
"Gone," Lieutenant Commander Russell said, striding over from Tactical. "And from what we've been told, you were the last person seen with her."  
"Me? I haven't talked to her since yesterday afternoon!" Stafford said.  
"Neither has anyone else," Russell said.  
"And you're just noticing this now?"  
"We don't usually butt in to the captain's off hours," Lieutenant Commander Porter said.  
"We didn't discover she was gone until she missed the morning staff meeting," Morales said. "We've scanned every inch of the station and every ship currently docked here, and we can't find her. Presuming that President Dillon didn't take her..."  
"Why would he take her?" T'Parief asked.  
"Long story. And we're pretty certain it doesn't have anything to do with this."  
"But you think I do," Stafford said.  
"No," Morales replied. "We've had five ships leave since anyone last saw Captain Beck, the USS Faraday, an Andorian Cruiser, a Klingon scout ship, a Yridian freighter, and a private yacht. They've all got pretty big head starts."  
"How many ships does Waystation have?" Stafford asked, understanding where this was going.  
"Three. But I think we can eliminate the USS Farraday as a suspect vessel. That means our three will be enough if Silverado goes after the Andorians."  
Stafford winced inwardly. They would leave him with the big, heavily armed ship run by the incredibly violent species. "And you honestly think they might have her?" he asked.  
"Captain Beck does have some history with the Andorians," Morales replied. "Waits and I will take the Wayward and chase down the Klingon scout ship. Russell, you and Mason take the Cumberland after the Yridians. And Porter, you and Laru track down that yacht."  
"All right. I'll have Silverado underway as soon as possible," Stafford said, turning to head back into the turbolift.  
"Um...sir?" Morales said, sounding confused.  
"What?" Stafford said.  
"Well...you're the ranking officer on board currently."  
"Really?" Stafford thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I am. So do you need me to dismiss everyone?"  
"You're in command."  
"Fine. Dismissed," Stafford said, starting for the turbolift again.  
"Sir," Morales said, stopping him. "You are in command…here."  
"You expect me to just sit here while you all go off and rescue your captain?" Stafford said.  
"Well, you are…"  
"The ranking officer," Stafford said, cutting Morales off. "I get it." He slapped his commbadge. "Stafford to Jall."  
"Jall is so very here!" his First Officer's voice replied. Stafford rolled his eyes and filled Jall in on the situation.  
"We're on it!" Jall said.  
"Mister Porter is sending you trajectory information on the Andorian cruiser now. Recall the crew and…"  
"No need. We've got everyone we need aboard. We're closing the gangway hatch now."  
"I am not aboard!" T'Parief said.  
"Don't worry, big guy. Stern can shoot things just as well as you can. We've got it under control. Silverado out."  
"Silverado is releasing their moorings," Morales said, having returned to the Docking Control console. "Do you want me to try to stop them?"  
"No. They can handle it," Stafford said. "I think."  
"All right. We're heading out then," Morales said as, on cue, the turbolift opened and three junior officers Stafford didn't recognize stepped into Ops.  
"Um…okay," Stafford said hesitantly.  
T'Parief looked from the turbolift to Stafford. "Do you want me to stay here…for company?"  
"Would you mind?" Stafford asked.  
"No. I will take Tactical."  
The young officer who had taken over for Russell looked at the Andorian-Klingon-Gorn hybrid and gulped. "Sir?"  
Stafford approached the officer. "It's okay, Ensign…?"  
"Jacob, sir."  
"Jacob. T'Parief can take it from here."  
"Y-yes, sir," Jacob said, retreating back into the turbolift with Morales, Russell, and Porter.  
"Good luck," Stafford said.  
"Thank you, Captain. We'll be back as soon as we have Captain Beck," Morales said.  
The turbolift doors closed leaving Stafford with his new and hopefully temporary command. He strolled around the area in front of the viewscreen/window. "All right. I'm in charge now. Steady as she…stays."

Silverado had left without him. Valtaic would have been quite upset if it weren't for the fact that several other of the ship's officers were in the same situation. The ship would be back soon, though, and Lieutenant Day was more than capable of handling Operations.  
But Valtaic was left with nothing to do. Waystation had quickly lost its charm, and Valtaic had been reduced to sitting on a bench in the lower concourse of the mall people watching, not that he was really paying any attention to the people going by. His mind was far more occupied with Dr. Diantha.  
"Mister Valtaic."  
Who was now standing right in front of him.  
"Doctor!" Valtaic exclaimed, making no attempt to hide his joy at seeing her.  
"I have thought about your earlier request."  
"You have?"  
"Yes. My initial response was given without due consideration of your offer."  
"And?"  
"And nothing. I am now considering it. I just require more information."  
"Of course. What would you like to know?"  
"What were your plans for this date?"  
"As this is your station, I was going to ask you for a restaurant recommendation. We would eat and converse, hopefully for several hours. This would be followed by you giving me a tour of the station, and then we would adjourn back to your quarters for an alcoholic beverage, if you enjoy such things. At this point, depending on how the evening prior to this went, I would either bid you goodnight or we would engage in intercourse."  
Diantha nodded. "I appreciate your candor."  
"And I yours."  
"I shall take this under advisement and contact you when I have reached a decision," Diantha said, extending her hand for him to shake. Valtaic took the offered hand, but, in his excitement, accidentally released another electric discharge. Diantha jerked, several more of her arm feathers dropping to the deck.  
"My apologies," Valtaic said.  
"Think nothing of it," Diantha said. "In my research this morning, I learned that this is common for your species."  
"I will await your response then."  
"Very good," Diantha said with a crisp nod before moving off down the concourse. Valtaic watched her go and caught her glancing over her shoulder at him.  
This he took to be an excellent sign.

"Captain's Log. Stardate 58702.5. It's been two hours since the search for Captain Beck began, and so far I haven't heard a thing from anybody. So I'm just standing here...waiting. Who knew commanding a space station could be this gosh darn fun?"

"And ve are back vith our very special guest, President Bradley Dillon. Before ze break, Bradley, ve were talking a bit about your childhood. Now neither of your parents is involved in politics or business. Zis is true, yes?"  
"Yes, that's correct. My father is a psychologist and my mother is an educator."  
"And neither of zese areas held an interest for you?"  
"I'm not sure that you could say that, Vonna. The work I do requires a great deal of knowledge of psychology and teaching techniques. I have simply chosen to apply them in other endeavors."  
"Very successful ones."  
"Thank you, Vonna. That's kind of you to say. I hope that my time as Federation President and my work with Dillon Enterprises' various activities has been a boon to the lives of our citizens."  
"And now let's go to ze comms. Ve have on ze line Kelly from ze USS Explorer. You have a question for President Dillon?"  
"Yes, Vonna. Thank you. Love your show. I was wondering if President Dillon would talk a bit about his personal life. Perhaps a love that he lost and how that affected him."  
"I'm afraid that my life of late has kept me far too busy for a relationship. However, you never know when this could change. As for past relationships, I would rather not discuss them out of respect for the people involved. I do not wish for any of them to be dragged unwillingly into the limelight. Thank you for the question, Counselor Peterman. Give my regards to Captain Baxter."  
As Bradley finished his reply, a male voice could be heard in the background. "Honey, who are you on the comm with?"  
"Nobody!" Counselor Peterman shouted back.  
"Did you call in to The Vonna Show?"  
"No! Mind your own business!"  
"We watch it on the bridge, you know. Are you still on the line? Can I talk to her? Hi, Vonna!"  
"Stop it, Andy!"  
The channel abruptly closed.  
"Do ve have another caller?"

"Bloody hell," Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey said, pacing in front of the entrance to the AWN studios from where today's edition of The Vonna Show was broadcasting. "How long is she going to keep him in there?"  
"We're lucky he's in there at all," Dr. Wowryk replied, her arms crossed as she sat on a bench close by. Several other mall patrons were also gathered outside the AWN studios, watching the Vonna broadcast on one of the small holovisions set up in a display window by the doors. "If Yvonnokoff had been on Silverado, she'd be doing today's show without her special guest."  
"Ah still can't believe Jall just left like that."  
"Why? He has no respect for authority and probably didn't want to risk any of us returning to the ship and preventing whatever horrors he's inflicting on the crew."  
"Yeah. Ah'm sure he's started a compulsory orgy on the bridge. Come on, Noel. He's not a monster."  
Wowryk snorted.  
Applause suddenly broke out among the mall patrons watching The Vonna Show.  
"My god, that woman is popular," Jeffrey said.  
"Simon!"  
"Sorry."  
"The show must be over," Wowryk said, getting to her feet as the gathered crowd dispersed.  
"Right. He could be out any second now."  
"The Special Secret Section is going to pummel you before you get within five meters of him."  
"That's where ye come in. Ye're his biggest fan, right?"  
"I wouldn't say that. I didn't watch him just now, did I?" Wowryk said.  
"No, but ye can't stand Counselor Yvonnokoff."  
"Or what her show stands for."  
"Aye. That too," Jeffrey said. The AWN doors opened and two Special Secret Section agents emerged, surveying the area for threats as they went. One of them spoke into a comm unit on his sleeve, and a moment later the man himself exited the studio flanked by two more Special Secret Section agents.  
"Call to him," Jeffrey whispered, prodding Wowryk.  
"Do NOT touch me!" Wowryk hissed.  
"Noel! He's getting away!"  
Wowryk bit her lip, watching Bradley Dillon start off down the concourse until... "President Dillon!" she shouted and was immediately horrified that she had done so. Bradley looked around and, spotting Wowryk and Jeffrey smiled and waved.  
"Can we have a word?" Jeffrey called out quickly, starting toward the president. As Wowryk had warned, the Special Secret Section agents closed in, ready to pound Jeffrey to a pulp.  
"No. It's all right," Bradley said, waving Jeffrey forward. "I don't think Janeway is sending Starfleet officers to assassinate me."  
Jeffrey looked back at Wowryk, who was rooted where she stood. "Come on, Noel. This is our chance!"  
Eyes wide with something between terror and awe, Wowryk lumbered after Jeffrey, entering the ring of agents.  
"Thank you, Mister President. Ah'm Lieutenant Commander Simon Jeffrey, and this is Doctor Noel Wowryk."  
"Meep."  
"She's a big fan."  
"Ah," Bradley said, taking Wowryk's hand gently and shaking it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor."  
"Meep!"  
"We're with the USS Silverado."  
"Silverado?" Bradley said. "That's one of my Operation Salvage ships, isn't it?"  
"Aye. It is."  
"Splendid! How are things working out for you?"  
"Ah'll be honest. It was a wee bit rough at first getting the ship up and running properly, but now we've got it fairly under control. Starfleet is sending us out on a deep space mission right now, so Ah suppose they think we're ready. We're just here for a layover and to pick up a few last supplies."  
"Excellent. We must make sure you have everything you need to make your mission a success."  
"Ah'm glad to hear you say that, Mister President. Because we've actually run into a snag. Starfleet Command has rejected a few of our requisition requests," Jeffrey said.  
"Rejected? Really?"  
"Aye. It came straight from Fleet Admiral Ra'al herself."  
Bradley's face darkened. "I see. And I'm afraid, Mister Jeffrey, that I have an idea why your requests were refused. I believe you and your shipmates may have become collateral damage in a war far above your level."  
"Ah…don't understand."  
"Don't worry about it," Bradley said. "I take it your list is on your padd there?"  
"Aye," Jeffrey replied, handing the padd to Bradley, who looked it over.  
"Weapons. Replicator supplies. Medical supplies. Nothing too unusual here. I think we…" Bradley trailed off.  
"Is there a problem?" Jeffrey asked.  
"This is…a lot of liquor."  
"Oh. Yes. It's needed for morale."  
Bradley smiled. "So what then? You're all alcoholics…on some kind of bar trek?"  
Jeffrey opened his mouth to protest but was stopped by Bradley's good-natured laughter. "It's all right, Mister Jeffrey. I fully understand your situation. Let me take this, and we'll see what we can do for you. All right?"  
"Yes. Thank ye, Mister President. Really Ah can't thank ye enough."  
"Think nothing of it," Bradley said, shaking Jeffrey's hand. "And Doctor, it was a pleasure meeting you."  
"Meep."  
Bradley bowed to her, then was whisked off down the concourse by his Special Secret Section agents.  
"That…went astoundingly well," Jeffrey said.  
"I told you he was a great man," Wowryk replied.  
"Really? All Ah got was 'meep.'"  
Wowryk glared at him then stalked off toward the nearest turbolift.  
"Oh come on, Noel," Jeffrey said, jogging to catch up with her. "Lots of people get tongue-tied around their idols. Ah won't tell anyone that Bradley Dillon makes you weak in the knees. Ah promise."  
"My knees are not weak, but…thank you. I appreciate you keeping it to yourself."  
"Anytime," Jeffrey said, unable to keep the smirk off of his face as they stepped into the turbolift together.

"Is it always this quiet up here?" Captain Stafford asked Lieutenant Nelagadda, who was monitoring Docking Control in Commander Morales' absence.  
"No, sir," the Indian officer replied. "Sometimes we have three and four ships attempting to dock at once! But other times…yes, it is like this."  
"Thrilling," Stafford muttered.  
"Captain, we have had many many days of just sitting on the bridge watching space go by," T'Parief said.  
"Yes, but we go places. And we get into battles."  
"We have battles here, too" Nelagadda said defensively.  
"Yeah? When was your last one?"  
"About thirty seconds from now," T'Parief said.  
"Is that a joke?" Stafford asked. "I don't get it."  
"Nine ships just decloaked. Twenty-thousand kilometers away and closing," T'Parief said, checking the display on the Tactical console.  
"What?" Stafford exclaimed. "Who is it?"  
"Unknown. The computer does not recognize the ship configurations, but they have their shields raised and I am reading energy signatures that I believe are weapons."  
"All of our support ships leave and THEN we get attacked? Is this screaming set-up to anyone else?" Stafford said. "Get our shields up, T'Parief. Stand by on phasers and torpedoes."  
T'Parief cracked his knuckles and grinned a feral smile. "Yes, sir."  
Ops rocked.  
"They've opened fire," T'Parief reported.  
"I guessed that," Stafford said, grabbing onto the Docking Control console as Ops shook again. How did Beck deal with combat situations without a chair to hold onto?  
The Ops viewscreen suddenly activated displayed the image of an older human woman with rather mussed hair. "Ops, this is Claurice Thenian in Waypoint Harbor. Could you stop that shaking please? We're trying to have a shuffleboard tournament down here." She peered more closely at the scene before her. "Christopher? Is that you?"  
"Yes, Aunt Claurice," Stafford said stifling a groan.  
"Shields at ninety-six percent," T'Parief said.  
"What are you doing up there?" Stafford's Aunt Claurice demanded. "Where's Captain Beck?"  
"I'm in command right now," Stafford replied.  
"No one said anything to me about you running this place."  
"It's only temporary. It will be really temporary if you don't let me get back to what I was doing."  
"And just what is so important that you can't talk to your aunt?"  
"We're under attack!" Stafford shouted as the station jolted again.  
"Shields at ninety-four percent," T'Parief said. "Ninety-three point seven really, but I rounded up."  
"Captain Beck would have started shooting back by now," Claurice observed.  
"I'm getting to it! And I'm going to tell her that you forced a comm through to the viewscreen without going through proper channels."  
"We're customers here," Claurice said. "Good service demands…"  
"Goodbye, Aunt Claurice!" Stafford snapped, signaling T'Parief to close the channel. Claurice Thenian vanished just before she could start shouting back at him.  
"Thank you," Stafford said.  
The station rocked again.  
"May I open fire now?" T'Parief said.  
"Please," Stafford said.  
"Targeting," T'Parief said as the image on the viewscreen shifted to show one of the incoming ships. It was a metallic green, darker than anything the Klingons or Romulans had, and far more blocky in design. A snubbed-nose front section led back to to a larger box that broke up at the rear, splitting into five pylons that spread out radially from the main hull. Each pylon was connected to the others by a straight connector, which pulsated with bright yellow energy. T'Parief was right. This ship didn't look like anything Stafford had ever seen.  
Before he could get a closer look, a massive phaser beam seared into view and slammed into the alien vessel. The impact slapped the ship out of view.  
"Woah!" Stafford exclaimed. "Was that us?"  
"Yes," T'Parief said, his grin having turned to a broad smile.  
"Oooh! I like the big guns."  
"It is a nice change."  
"Let 'em have it."  
Outside the station, phaser banks lining the surfaces of the upper and lower saucers flared to life, sending powerful streams of energy raking through the void as volleys of torpedoes fired from launchers positioned along the saucers' edges.  
The alien ships veered and dodged as best they could, but the space around Waystation quickly became an inescapable trap of destruction. Within moments, all nine ships were drifting, shields gone, lights flickering, engines and weapons useless.  
"That was over far too quickly," T'Parief said disappointed.  
"It happens," Stafford said.  
"I will have to exercise more self-control next time."  
"Try thinking about baseball."  
"What?"  
"Never mind," Stafford said. "Get some tractor beams on those ships and find me someone in charge to talk to. You can't tell me that they just happened to show up after Captain Beck goes missing.

"Diantha to Valtaic."  
"Go ahead."  
"My answer is yes."  
"Excellent. I will see you at 1900 hours."  
"Make it 1830 hours. Be at the Infirmary."  
"Very well."

"Captain's Log. Stardate 58703.6. The Waystation ships and Silverado have returned, and, what do you know, I was right. It was a set-up. It turns out that the exotic masseuse at the Medusan spa was an advance spy of the Oporastans, a Beta Quadrant species that we had not encountered before. The Medusans need to do a better job screening their employees. They hired a woman from a species no one has ever seen before, a woman who was here with the sole purpose of scouting out a potential conquest for her people. Fortunately for us, she got the idea that without Captain Beck, Waystation would be easy pickings because the entire command crew would race off looking for her. Once she got Beck on the massage table, she knocked her out with a hypospray, shoved her in a crate, and booked passage on the Yridian freighter that was about to depart while her people waited to swoop in and take the station once the command crew left to search for Beck. An ingenious plan, but the Oporastans didn't count on there being another captain on board, a captain with the experience and skill to take them down. After their ignominious defeat, the Oporastans have agreed to send a diplomatic delegation for a proper first contact."

"That is the most self-aggrandizing log entry I have ever heard."  
"Shut up, Jall."  
"And it was a really stupid plan."  
"Jall."  
"Any ensign running tactical could have stopped them."  
"Can I finish?"  
"Only if you don't say 'ignominious' again."  
"It's a word."  
"So is 'pretentious'."

"Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey and Doctor Wowryk were able to obtain the remaining supplies on our list. I've been asked not to say how for reasons I don't understand, but, considering who was doing the asking, I'm not going to argue. We're all stocked and loaded, so now it's off to Matria.  
"Yippee."

"There they go," Commander Morales said as the Docking Control console read that Arm Four was now empty.  
"And I like to think that they're taking a little bit of us with them," Lieutentant Commander Porter said. "Or a lot of us, really. Do we have anything left?"  
"Five torpedoes," Lieutenant Commander Russell said.  
"Five?" Commander Morales exclaimed.  
"Well, to be fair, they fired most of them at the Oporastans."  
"And then they took the rest," Captain Beck said. "Along with a good portion of our replicator stores and who knows how much from the Infirmary. I'm waiting for a report from Diantha."  
"Are you going to file a protest with Fleet Admiral Ra'al?" Morales asked. "Let her know what President Dillon ordered you to do?"  
"No," Beck said. "What's the point? And Stafford did fight off the Oporastans. Let Silverado have the stuff. Where they're going, they'll probably need it."  
The turbolift doors opened. It took Beck a moment to recognize that the tall figure who stepped out into Ops was Diantha. Most of her feathers were gone.  
"Doctor, are you all right?" Beck asked in shock.  
"Fine," Diantha replied curtly.  
"Are you molting?" Porter asked.  
"Yes. I molted."  
"Overnight?"  
"Drop it."  
"As fast as you dropped your feathers?"

"Nicely done," Captain Stafford said as looked over the stacks of crates filling Cargo Bay Three. The other cargo bays were all similarly stuffed.  
"Thanks," Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey said. "We couldn't get all of the alcohol, but this will have to do."  
"It's great. But enough with the secrecy. How did you convince President Dillon to help us out?"  
"Noel sweet-talked him."  
"Really? I didn't think she would sweet-talk anybody…ever. But then she has a thing for him, right?"  
"Nah. She just respects him. Nothing more than that."  
"Damn. I was hoping we finally found a chink in that male-hating armor of hers."  
"We'll have to keep looking, Ah guess," Jeffrey said. "What about ye? Were ye able to see Captain Beck before we left?"  
"No. I commed her, but she said she was busy filing the 'I Was Captured By Hostile Aliens, but I Promise I Didn't Reveal Any Starfleet Secrets' forms. Those things take forever."  
"Don't think she was avoiding ye?"  
"I'd just saved her station. Why would she avoid me?" Stafford said.  
"Maybe ye're not her type."  
"I cleared that up!"  
"Ah heard. 'Ah like girls'?"  
Stafford groaned.  
"Don't worry, Chris," Jeffrey said, patting Stafford on the shoulder. "There are lots of girls on Matria just waiting for ye."  
"Waiting to make my life miserable."  
"Probably."  
"You're great for moral support. You know that?"  
"Ah try. Want a beer?"  
"Now that's moral support. We'll take it to boat on the holodeck. We need to enjoy some smooth sailing while we can."  
"Aye, that we do. That we do."

END

Next: As boredom sets in, Stafford decides to the task of commanding Silverado to Jall and T'Parief. Can the two rivals play nicely, or are we looking at an all out catfight? Meanwhile, the Hazardous Team must save a fellow crewman from a fate worse than Leno! Check out Star Traks: Silverado 4.7 – 'The Quest for Vonna's Padd', coming at you next!


	7. The Quest for Vonna's Padd

Star Traks: Silverado

4.7 "The Quest for Vonna's Padd"

"I say we blow it up," Ensign Simmons stated.  
"You ALWAYS say we should blow it up," Lieutenant Marsden said crossly.  
"Cuz it's always a good idea!" Simmons shrugged.  
Ensign Dar'ugal pointed at Simmons, then at the new rank pip on Marsden's collar.  
"Yeah, Darg," Lieutenant Rengs nodded, "If he hadn't caused so many accidental explosions, he probably would have been promoted too!"  
"And we'd have a cooler name than 'The Hazardous Team'," Lt. Cmdr. Stern added, "Now, can we get this mission wrapped up please, ladies?"  
"Sure thing, brave leader," Rengs squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, sized up the target and dropped to one knee.  
"Excuse me, little girl," he said, using the same tone of voice he used with his one-year old son, "You're blocking the replicator. Could you please move?"  
The child, daughter of one of the scientists in Xeno-Gynocology, stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry.  
"Smoothly done, Rengs," Stern commented.  
The Hazardous Team was Silverado's Alpha shift security team. A collection of officers and crew with diverse specialties, their job was to achieve whatever security-related missions objectives T'Parief or the captain could come up with. They'd earned their nickname during a Matrian attack on Silverado years ago, when their efforts to defend the crew against a boarding party did as much damage to the ship as they did to the boarding party!  
Though T'Parief was Chief of Security, the actual operation of the Hazardous Team was left largely to his deputy, Lieutenant Commander Stern. At 6'4, with shoulders broad enough to land a shuttle on and a near unbeatable 5 o'clock shadow, he was an imposing figure. His specialty was sharp shooting. He often attached pictures of his least favorite team members (and commanding officers) to his targets to help get that last bit of motivation in. Next on the team was Lieutenant Rengs, a Bajoran man with a wife, a child and an interest in energy weapons. While he was less accident-prone than most other team members, he still had a few incidents under his belt.  
Newly promoted Lt. Marsden was the team's hostage negotiator and computer expert. A tall but skinny human, he had yet to remain conscious for an entire Hazardous Team mission. Ensign Simmons, an explosives expert, made things go boom. He was very skilled at his job, but nobody was sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Likewise, nobody was quite sure whether his tan complexion and dark hair were due to his heritage or due to the repeated singing of his face and hair. On top of that, he had a very loud, sarcastic mouth. He liked to think of himself as a ladies man, but in truth the ladies really didn't consider him much of a man at all.  
Crewman Kreklor, the team Klingon, was the only member of the Hazardous Team who wasn't an officer. He specialized in hand-to-hand combat. Big surprise.  
The final team member was Ensign Dar'ugal. 7 feet tall, covered with orange fur and completely lacking a head, it was a matter of confusion as what exactly his specialty was. The fact that he was totally mute didn't help, either. Being one of the only Barudans in Starfleet, he tended to startle people, especially when they saw eyes and a mouth where most species kept a chest. (Or, on many females, a nice rack.)  
"Enough," Kreklor snarled, "This situation, and this pointless re-introduction, has gone on long enough!"  
Without showing the slightest effort, he lifted the girl (ignoring her squeal of surprise), carried her across the dining room and deposited her on her mother's lap.  
"I believe you lost this," he growled.  
"Finally!" Simmons exclaimed stepping towards the replicator and rubbing his hands together, "Chow time!"  
On cue, the comm sounded.  
"Hazardous Team, report to the holodeck. NOW!" T'Parief's voice barked.  
"Shit," Stern growled, slapping a hand against the replicator.  
As they turned to leave, Marsden looked back at the girl. She stood on her chair and blew another raspberry.

"Do you know vhy you are here?" Counselor Yvonnokoff asked, a professional 'I'm-interested-because-it's-my-job-to-be-interest ed' expression on her face.  
"That is a stupid question," Lt. Cmdr Valtaic declared flatly, "I know perfectly well why I'm here, and I find it pointless,"  
"Hmmmn," Yvonnokoff's pale brow, framed by white-blond hair, wrinkled delicately, "Und vhy zis hostility?"  
"There is no hostility on my part," he replied, softening his tone slightly to accommodate human customs, "Did you not get the memo?"  
"Ve use memos on zis ship?" Yvonnokoff blinked, "I haff never received one,"  
"That does not concern me," Valtaic decided, "Please start my session. If I must undergo a psyche evaluation, let us make it brief."  
"Jas, jas," Yvonnokoff sighed. She reached for her padd, unclipping it from the holster than kept it constantly hanging on her hip.  
"Let us see," she tapped away, "I say: 'Hello insert name here und velcome to insert ship name here. For your family planning conveniences, contraceptives are available in Sickbay or from ze replicator…" she trailed off, then stopped. "I am sorry, zat is ze sexual health briefing vith Dr. Wowrk. Of course, she uses 'Ze Catholic Guide to Filthy, Sinful Fornication' instead!" she rolled her eyes.  
"Really?" Valtaic, though he had lived on Earth for several years to attend the Academy, knew little of Earth religions, "And what does that book say on the subject?"  
"'Don't haff sex'," Yvonnokoff said crisply. She tapped her padd again, bringing up the proper evaluation form, "Now zen, let us discuss you family. Did you hate your mozer?"

Some time later, Crewman Gibson was walking down the corridor, a bag sling over his shoulder. 'The Vonna Show' was starting in half an hour, and as producer it was his job to have the set ready and the high speed subspace linkup to AWN established. Gibson was shorter than average and had one of those faces that just made you stop, take a closer look and think 'monkey'! His shaved head and slim build added to the image, making it easy to believe that humans evolved from primates. He had more than his share of bad habits, including wearing his pants halfway down his ass, body piercings in a variety of places and, rumor had it, partaking of Crewman Shwaluk's stash of 'flammable plants'.  
He came around the corner, not really paying attention to where he was going, and nearly ran into Valtaic.  
"Yo!" Gibson called as Valtaic deftly moved to one side, "You seen Vonna?" He took a closer look at the network of lines covering Valtaic's skin. "Hey, nice ink job!"  
Another officer might have been offended, but Valtaic's people preferred such bluntness, as opposed to the social pleasantries used by most other races.  
"I do not know this 'Vonna', am carrying no ink and do not have time for questions at this time," Valtaic said briskly.  
Yvonnokoff rounded the corner, coming from the same direction Valtaic had come. Gibson thought he saw what looked like sparks jumping between Valtaic's fingers as he gave her a look of contempt, but decided it was probably just part of his buzz.  
"Gibson!" Yvonnokoff snapped, "Vhat are you doing? Get uplink up! Show is in 15 minutes! Vonna must soothe ze strained psyches of ze quadrant!"  
With this, she continued down the corridor, heading towards her studio.  
"She is Vonna?" Valtaic asked.  
"Uh, yeah, dude," Gibson replied.  
"And they broadcast her, live?"  
"Yup. Only on AWN!"  
"And she actually HELPS people?" Valtaic's energy field was starting to make the hairs stand up on Gibson's arms.  
"Sometimes," Gibson shrugged, "But even if she doesn't, the weird stuff she comes up with is pretty good sounding shit!"

Captain Stafford sat in his command chair, hoping somebody would just attack the damned ship already. Next to him, Commander Jall was grinning.  
"OK," Lieutenant Yanick said, "Everybody join in!"  
She raised her voice:

Oh, we're going off to Matria,  
A place that's really neat,  
The girls there are big and strong,  
And the guys are really meek!

"Please stop," Stafford groaned. Fifebee had deactivated her audio subroutines and the crewman at Ops was wearing noise-dampening headphones. Jall, however, joined right in.

We're going off to Matria,  
They had a great big war,  
It happed a hundred years ago,  
We'll be sure they have no more!

Stafford was picking at the buttons on his armrest when Valtaic returned to the bridge. Yanick and Jall were working on their next verse.  
"What are you doing, sir?" Valtaic asked.  
"Looking for the button to eject her into space," Stafford grumbled.  
"There isn't one," Valtaic said, the sarcasm lost on him.  
"Have one installed," Stafford said. Valtaic nodded, then took over the Ops station.  
The ship was less than a week out of Waystation, fully stocked and supplied for the long-term mission to Matrian space. Morale was definitely down (except for Yanick), Stafford and his officers were still getting used to dealing with Valtaic's customs and Sylvia had retreated even deeper into the ship's computer core. Even if you called her name, you usually got the computer's sterile, automated responses.  
The turbolift doors opened and Commander T'Parief stepped onto the bridge.  
"How was the surprise drill with the HT?" Stafford asked.  
"Ensign Simmons destroyed several buildings that had no relevance to the mission, Kreklor ate the spleen out of a downed enemy, Marsden was knocked out by a stun-grenade and Stern put a phaser-beam through one enemy's skull," T'Parief reported.  
"Same as always then, huh?" Jall smirked.  
"I thought the purpose of the drill was to have them practice reconnaissance using the Matria Prime holodeck program," Stafford said crossly.  
"It was," T'Parief admitted.  
"We've only been cruising for a few days," Stafford growled, his blood slowly beginning to boil, "it's too early to go space-crazy!'  
"Too late," Jall said, "We were declared space-crazy a long time ago. And that walking demolition crew you call a security team will put us in the 'rabid targ' box before long!"  
"They have been effective in their missions," T'Parief said, "We have yet to learn if you will be the same,"  
"I've done missions," Jall said, turning in his chair.  
"You examined a 'Pulsating Squeeze Drive',"  
"That was my mission!"  
"I am sure you say that to all the-"  
"ENOUGH!"  
Heads (except for the temporarily deaf Fifebee) snapped around to stare at Stafford. The Captain was standing in front of his seat, his face beet-red.  
"I'm sick of listening to the two of you take shots at each other! We have a long trip ahead of us, and I refuse to spend it like this!'  
He walked briskly to the turbolift.  
"I'm taking the next few days off," he said, "Don't call me unless the ship's about to explode!"  
The doors hissed shut.  
"That was weird," Yanick said to Jall, "He usually doesn't start shouting until you start to talk about your sex life,"  
"I figured he'd crack sooner or later," Jall laughed, clapping his hands and kicking his legs, "Yay! I get to be Captain!"  
"Never," T'Parief growled darkly.  
"You never know, Pari," Yanick said.  
His throat rumbling with displeasure, T'Parief started pulling up the 'Andorian Ritual Suicide Handbook',"

"I can't stand it! He just eats, and grunts and leaves molten rock on the rug! I love him, but I can't stand living with him!"  
"I zee," Yvonnokoff said, now in her 'Vonna' personae, "Ave you considered dating somebody closer to own species? Humanoid, perhaps? Und if you haff, never spoken to him via translator-"  
"Hammy, no!" the woman screamed, causing Vonna to jump slightly in her seat.  
"I'm sorry, Vonna, she said, "He just set the couch on fire! I gotta go!"  
As the line went dead, Vonna composed herself and looked into the camera, putting on her 'profession and friendly' face.  
"Vell, ve haff run out of time for today," she said, "I vould suggest to you all though zat dating a Horta is not a good idea if you species lacks natural body armour. I zank you for your letters and for viewing show this evening. Please join next week when ve haff special episode, focusing on a case I haff found to be very interesting. Remember, I am here to help,"  
The on-air light faded as AWN switched to the next feed. Gibson signed off with the signal controller and shut down the subspace feed.  
"Who dates a Horta anyway?" Gibson asked through the intercom built into his tiny, sound-proof booth, "It'd be like humping a pile of rocks!"  
"I do not expect you to understand ze complex aspects of ze human mind," Yvonnokoff said.  
"Why not?" Gibson asked, slack-jawed.  
"Because in your head is only sex, booze und burning plants,"  
"So?"  
Yvonnokoff sighed.  
"I haff no time for you today," she said, pulling out her padd, "Go play vith Roscoe's pet monkey, or perhaps try to educated yourself in ship's library,"  
"Huh, as if," Gibson chuckled, trying to look over her shoulder, "Whatcha doin'?"  
"Study on crew member," she said, "you go away now,"  
Shrugging, Gibson grabbed his equipment bag and stepped into the corridor. He turned into a turbolift and was about to head down to the secret room/clubhouse/grow-house he shared with Roscoe and Shwaluk when he realized what he'd just heard.  
"Shit!"

"That sucked," Marsden said, sitting in Platterhead's and rubbing his head.  
"We accomplished our mission," Rengs said, "We also blew up half the city, killed a bunch of no-name guards and accidentally drowned a cat,"  
"A good day," Kreklor said happily.  
"Better too much than too little," Simmons agreed.  
"Whatever," Marsden said, "I still want a hypo for this headache,"  
"Guys! Hey, guys!"  
Everybody turned to see Gibson running into the room, ignoring the Guinanco waiter that tried to tell him that he wasn't supposed to be in the officer's mess without being invited by an officer. (Not that anybody on Silverado paid attention to such things anyway.) He stumbled to a stop at their table, clutching the back of a chair and coughing.  
"Dude," Simmons said, "how far did you run?"  
"From," Gibson gasped, "the turbolift,"  
"What the f**k?" Simmons' mouth twisted, "that's, like fifty feet!"  
"Smoker's cough," Gibson wheezed,"but listen; we gotta warn everybody!"  
"Why?" Rengs asked, "does T'Parief have that monster fish-gut gas again?" He'd been getting less and less pleasant as his son approached teething age.  
"No, it's Vonna," Gibson said.  
"What about her?" Stern asked, "She's not really much of a security threat,"  
Dar'ugal made a series of hand gestures, looking for all the world like he was dancing to 'Kung-Fu Fighting'.  
"A black belt?" Stern frowned, "Really?"  
"She's gonna do a whole show based on somebody on the ship!" Gibson interrupted, "I just heard her talking about it! Somebody on this ship is gonna be totally humiliated!"  
"Nothing new there," Simmons shrugged.  
"Who is it?" Kreklor demanded, "Is it me? I will destroy her!"  
"I dunno," Gibson said, pulling his pants back up to his waist, only to have them fall back down, "She's got it on her padd-"  
"We have to get it!" Stern said, drawing himself up, "And warn the poor bastard!"  
"Another mission?" Marsden groaned, rubbing his head, "I just woke up!"

The next morning, Jall stepped out of his quarters, turned and walked into the bulkhead.  
"Ow," he muttered, "I've GOT to get used to this new room," Noonan's old quarters, now Jall's, were on the opposite side of the ship compared to his old quarters.  
He heard a door hiss open behind him, turned around and saw Stafford step into the corridor.  
"Hey, Captain," Jall called out.  
"I'm on vacation!" Stafford said sharply, "Do it yourself,"  
"I was just saying 'good morning'," Jall snapped back.  
"Good morning!" Stafford called over his shoulder as he stepped into the turbolift. As the doors closed, something slipped out onto the deck.  
"What the…" Jall bent to pick it up. It was flat, extremely thin and flexible. "Wait, I've seen this before. Um…paper?"  
Please with himself, he turned the sheet of paper over. The other side was covered with bizarre symbols. Circles, bars, lines and strange squiqqles covered the sheet. Alien, no doubt. But why would Stafford have it? Was Stafford researching aliens? The only aliens they knew they'd been dealing with in the near future were the Senousians and the Matrians, and their written scripts looked nothing like this. Was Stafford in the middle of some secret contact? Did that have anything to do with his mood change?  
Was it an authorized contact?  
"Time to call lizard-boy," he muttered.

"Bugs, this is Daffy. The rock is on the coyote. Repeat, the rock is on the coyote!"  
"I wanted to be Daffy this time," Simmons whined as Rengs made his report over the comm.  
"Shut up, Porky," Stern said.  
"What's that shit about the rocks and coyotes?" Simmons asked.  
"Marsden just knocked himself out tracking Yvonnokoff in the arboretum."  
"That was fast, even for him," Simmons observed.  
"Bugs, this is Taz," Kreklor's voice growled, "I have acquired the target. She is leaving Deck 12 via the starboard turbolift,"  
Crap, Stern thought to himself. Marsden wore the second cap of technology specialist for the team, but with him out, Stern needed to either take the time to track her using the computer or have another team member try. Both would take valuable time.  
Luckily, the Hazardous team was a good team, despite their flaws. Anticipating the issue, Dar'ugal (code named 'Tweety') immediately accessed the closest computer panel to his post near Yvonnokoff's office, tracked the lift and sent the destination to Stern via text-only message.  
"Bye, Porky," Stern said, tapping at his panel and beaming Simmons to Yvonnokoff's destination: the residential section of Deck 10.  
"You f-" Simmons voice faded as he dematerialized.

Simmons found himself on Deck 10, near a stretch of junior officer's quarters. He heard the humming of an approaching turbolift and ducked into a side corridor. The lift opened and Yvonnokoff walked out, padd in hand.  
"Next, counseling vith Nurse Kerry," she muttered to herself, "Zen back to office, zen show. Busy day!"  
She walked right past Simmons and continued down the curving corridor. Simmons quickly reported what he'd heard.  
"Confirmed, Poky," Stern's voice came through the special headset Simmons and the rest of the HT wore when on a mission, "Will deploy as needed,"  
"Remind me," Rengs, currently code-named 'Granny', came onto the comm, "Why do we need her padd so badly?"  
"She does everything on that padd," Stern said, "Haven't you noticed? Now cut the chatter, Granny!"  
"She's gone into Nurse Kerry's quarters," Simmons reported.  
"Get in there!" Stern ordered.  
"Right," Simmons muttered to himself, "Just get into a room with only one door without being noticed. Just like that,"  
"Your comm is still on, Porky," Strern's voice said.  
"Oops,"

Jall sat in Stafford's ready room, staring at the sheet of bizarre symbols. Finally, he had to admit defeat.  
"Sylvia?" her called.  
"I'm sorry," a recording of Sylvia's voice said, "I'm either away from the computer core, or in an unreachable virtual reality. Please leave a message at the beep,"  
"Override!" Jall said, "Sylvia!"  
"Yes?" Sylvia's real voice replaced the recording, "Is this important?"  
"You tell me," Jall said, "What's this stuff?" He gestured at the sheet.  
There was a brief pause, then Sylvia's holographic avatar appeared. She straightened her curly, blond-ish hair (why, Jall had no idea) and picked up the sheet.  
"Oh, this is Chris'," she said.  
"Yeah," Jall looked expectantly at her, "But what is it?"  
"Nevermind," Sylvia said, somewhat more sharply than normal, "Does he know you have it?"  
"No," Jall suddenly noticed how many pictures of Silverado (Sylvia?) were hanging in Stafford's ready room. Not to mention the ship model.  
"You should give it back," Sylvia said, hands on hips.  
"I'm not done with it yet," Jall said, "Why are you getting so worked up over this?"  
"It's Chris' business," Sylvia said, "But if you're going to be a jerk about it, then fine!"  
She dematerialized.  
Jall groaned and threw his arms theatrically into the air.  
"Lizard-boy to the ready room!"

Simmons jerked, narrowly avoiding being poked by an isolinear chip. He'd let himself into the set of empty quarters next to Kerry's and crawled into the narrow crawlspace under the replicator. He'd taken a tiny camera/microphone combo out and was easing it through a hole he'd drilled in the wall between the two sets of quarters.  
Back in the security office, Stern and Rengs were watching the feed.  
"What the hell is that?" Stern wondered, leaning forward to look at the screen.  
"It looks like a piece of chain," Rengs observed.  
"Hold on," Stern said, "Pull the cam back a bit."  
The view zoomed out and suddenly hundreds of tiny chain links became visible.  
"Chain mail," Stern snickered.  
Simmons repositioned the camera. This time the full room became visible. Crewman Shwaluk was strapped to Kerry's St. Andrew's Cross wearing only a pair of tight leather shorts. A ball-gag hung around his neck. Standing next to him, Kerry was wearing an ancient white nurse's uniform made entirely of leather, a stiff carbon rod held in one hand.  
Stern and Rengs exchanged a look.  
"I honestly have no idea what to say," Stern said.  
"By the Prophets," Rengs shook his head. They quieted as the audio kicked in.  
"-just doesn't hit me like she used to, Counselor," Shwaluk was saying, "the passion just isn't there anymore!"  
"Hmm," Yvonnokoff tapped at her padd, 'Und vhy you want to be hit? Vere you abused as child?"  
"Huh?" Shwaluk looked confused.  
"No, zen," Yvonnokoff made a note, "Und you, Kerry? You zink you haff problem?"  
"Well," Kerry looked uneasy, "It's just that he's been really good lately. I don't really have anything to punish him for,"  
"Hmmm," Yvconnokoff thought hard for a moment, "Shwaluk, close eyes. Listen to vhat I say,"  
Shwaluk obeyed.  
"You are in Sickbay. Dr. Wowryk is zere. She comes to you, und slowly starts to remove shirt. She says you to you: 'Seth, I vant you to be my first.' Vhat do you do?"  
Shwaluk was already drooling.  
"Bang her brains out!" he cried.  
"WHAT?" Kerry shrieked. The rod lashed out, smacking Shwaluke's back. He screamed out in pain.  
"Better?" Yvonnokoff asked.  
"Much," Kerry said, angrily lashing out again and again.  
"My work is done," Yvonnokoff gave a satisfied nod and turned to leave.  
SNAP!  
"AHHHHHHHHH!"

"What do you want?" T'Parief asked sharply, walking into the ready room. He felt the familiar rumble in his throat as he looked down at Jall, seated at the Captain's desk, next to the Captain's model of Silverado, sipping a fruity drink and sitting there like he was running the whole show. It was all T'Parief could do to stop himself from dragging the undisciplined excuse for an officer back to the ops console where he belonged.  
"I called you like, ten minutes ago," Jall complained.  
"Unless Sylvia is in direct control of the comm system, 'Lizard-Boy' is not recognized by the computer," T'Parief said calmly.  
"Uh-huh," Jall leaned back, "But you still know I called you."  
T'Parief was quiet for a moment.  
"No comment," he said.  
Cocking his head, Jall put the sheet of paper on Stafford's desk.  
"What is this?" T'Parief crossed his arms, "Plans for your next parade?"  
"I have no idea," Jall said, "Stafford dropped it,"  
"So give it back," T'Parief said, unmoved.  
"You're really not a deep thinker, are you?" Jall asked, "The Captain drops some kind of message written in an unknown language and the ship's computer suddenly refuses to help me,"  
T'Parief said nothing, but his hostile expression softened.  
"Doesn't this seem a little ass-over-teakettle?"  
"Is that a serious question, or are you simply being yourself?" T'Parief asked, turning to leave.  
"Hey, I'm the hot, sexy first officer, and you are the…" Jall trailed off, looking for a word. Deciding to be professional this once, he straightened up in Stafford's chair.  
"Security chief," he finished.  
T'Parief hesitated, then sat.  
"This could be an indication of an alien influence," he admitted, "Possibly hostile,"  
"And you hate the fact that it was me that found it,"  
"Could be," T'Parief repeated, using a tone that clearly said 'don't push it'.  
"Let's get Fifebee to check it out," Jall said.  
"No," T'Parief said sharply, "If Sylvia has been compromised, it is likely that the aliens have manipulated her program as well."  
"Oh," Jall said.  
"That is why I am in charge of security," T'Parief said, slightly smug.  
"So what do we do?"  
"We research those symbols using the linguistics database,"  
Jall slammed his drink onto the desk.  
"You're shitting me!" he cried, "There's, like, a hundred thousand languages in there,"  
"Yes," T'Parief said.  
Jall groaned.  
"I hate you hard-working types!

"Report, Wile E," Stern called into the comm.  
Marsden, revived by means of dunking his head in the duck pond, had trailed Yvonnokoff after she left Kerry's quarters.  
"Target is returning to her office," Marsden reported.  
"Counseling sessions all afternoon," Stern mused, "Great,"  
"I hear enough about other people's problems from my wife," Rengs grunted.

"Whatcha doin'?" Yanick asked. She was heading off for her break and had stopped by to see if Jall was going to join her.  
"We are-" T'Parief started, but Jall cut him off.  
"Nothing," Jall said, "Uh, I'll be right out-"  
"No," this time T'Parief cut Jall off, "I am sorry, Trish, but we are very busy,"  
"Oh," Yanick looked a bit down, "OK. I'll just go," She turned and started to leave.  
"Bring me back some coos-coos!" Jall called. He turned to T'Parief, "Why the hell couldn't I have a break?"  
"This is more important," T'Parief said, "And why did you not allow me to inform Trish of our dilemma?"  
"This is a security matter, you should know that!" Jall said, using his most profession tone, "Regs say that it should be kept on a need-to-know basis,"  
T'Parief wasn't sure what was more annoying: the tone of Jall's voice or the fact that the smug bastard was right.  
They sat in cold silence for several minutes, looking over sample after sample of alien writing. They had found a few scripts that were similar to Stafford's mystery note, but not close enough.  
After several more minutes, T'Parief stood and walked to Stafford's replicator.  
"Puppy," he ordered, "Roasted. And a side of heartworm,"  
"Oh my God!" Jall exclaimed, covering his mouth as the dish materialized, filling the small room with a vile scent.  
"I am hungry," T'Parief declared. He began eating with one clawed hand, the other working on the portable terminal he'd brought in.  
Jall, trying hard not to gag, narrowed his eyes at T'Parief. What was up with the other officer? Why would he be ranting about the need to focus on work one minute, then grabbing disgusting snack foods the next? There was only one explanation in Jall's mind (two, but we'll ignore the other, it's disturbing). Clearly, T'Parief was trying to get under his skin; to irritate him as much as he used to enjoy irritating Stafford. Well, Jall mused, he still enjoyed irritating Stafford, he was just learning to exercise restraint. Well, he, San Jall, had more experience as the irritant than as the irritee, and he was sure he could see his way through any of T'Parief's tricks. All he had to do was sit back, finish his work, and ignore whatever T'Parief did.  
Screw that!  
He tapped at his panel, loading his Madonna database and blasting 'Material Girl' through the ready room speakers. T'Parief glared him over the steaming plate.

"So, are we gonna actually try for the padd on this one? Simmons asked.  
"If we get the chance, we will," Stern affrirmed.  
"Granny-"  
"Can we please drop the code-names?" Rengs asked.  
"Rengs," Stern rolled his eyes, "is going to beam into Yvonnokoff's office, right behind her couch, and get us some good, close-up recon."  
Dar'ugal gestured at his eyes, then at his ears.  
"No, she won't notice him," Stern said, shaking his head, "We have a plan!"

"Zo tell me," Yvonnokoff asked, "How long is you been haffing zis fear?"  
"I…I don't know, Vonna," Petty Officer Brunby said, looking very nervous as he sat rigidly on the couch.  
"Please," Yvonnokoff smile, "Ve are off ze air and in private space. I call you 'Sean', and you call me 'Counselor Yvonnokoff',"  
"I don't know what did it," Brunbvy said, eyes darting around the room, "but for as long as I can remember, I've been terrified of…of…" his green eyes darted around the room again and his voice dropped to a whisper, "Disco,"  
"Disco," Yvonnokoff repeated, interested, "Hmmm. Vas there perhaps traumatic experience in your youth zhat led to zis?"  
Before Brunby could answer, the lights in the office suddenly started pulsing as an electronic beat began to play. Brunby shrieked, flailing his arms and knocking Yvonnokoff back in her chair. Unnoticed, Rengs materialized, lying prone under the couch. Expecting to find two somewhat confused crewmembers, he was totally unprepared for the pandemonium he found. Brunby was now racing around the room, bouncing off the walls in his insane desire to escape. Yvonnokoff had pulled herself to her feet and was chasing after Brunby, stepping on Rengs' fingers in the process. Biting back a Bajoran curse (which really wasn't all that potent anyway) he quickly scanned the room for his goal.  
There! Up on the coffee table! Rengs snatched the padd and called for beam-out.  
As suddenly as it started, the music stopped and the lights returned to normal. Brunby collapsed against the wall, sobbing.  
"Vell," Yvonnokoff shrugged, "Let us discuss your traumatic experience. It vas not in your childhood, but it will do!

"Idiot!" Rengs snapped at Marsden, clutching his hand, "What was THAT?"  
"A fantastic distraction!" Stern said, "We couldn't have hoped for better!"  
"Here's the padd," Rengs growled, handing it over and massaging his injured hand, "Can I go now? I have to babysit, and dirty diapers ferment after about 5 minutes,"  
"Whatever," Stern said, handing the padd to Marsden, who was preparing to decrypt, decode or otherwise hack into Yvonnokoff's most secret writings. As it turned out, his efforts were totally unnecessary; the padd consisted of plain text.  
"'Take me, NBarchonem'," Marsden read, a confused expression on his face, "'I don't love Dacoran, he can't give me the burning, passionate love you do! My busoms ache for'…" he trailed off. "Yvonnokoff writes trashy romance novels?"  
"Or she just reads them," Rengs said, still on his way out, "I think my wife was reading that one the other day…"  
"What does this mean?" Simmons demanded.  
"It means," Stern grinned, "We have to try again. And get the right f**king padd this time!"

It was now Simmons' turn.  
It was almost time for a recording of 'The Vonna Show'. Almost every episode was done live, right from Vonna's studio, but the Associated Worlds network liked to have a few pre-recorded shows on file, for those times when Silverado was engaged in activities that prevented broadcasts. (Alternate universes, ion storms, coffee in the transmitter, etc.)  
At least this time they had an ally. Crewman Gibson had let Simmons into the studio before Vonna arrived and had secured him behind a fake bookcase.  
"You know," Gibson said, ready to close the door to his booth, "I'd have, like, tons of chances to snatch this thing. I could do it for you, no sweat!"  
Simmons looked Gibson over, starting at the scuffed boots, moving up to the pants hanging halfway down his hips, up to the mustard stain on his shirt and finally stopping at the dull, stoner gaze.  
"Leave it to the professionals," Simmons said, patting Gibson on the shoulder.  
He scrambled back behind the bookcase as the doors hissed open. Yvonnokoff strode in, drawing her Vonna persona around herself like a cloak.  
"Gibson, you have lines?" she demanded.  
"I'm like, totally not into that dangerous shit," Gibson replied, "But I have the comm lines open. AWN says they have plenty of transmissions rolling in."  
"Vhat haff ve got?"  
"We have this Rigillian dude who's convinced he's Elvis reincarnated," Gibson read off his screen.  
"Too far-fetched," Vonna waved a hand as she settled into her chair, oblivious to Simmons.  
"A human chick who can't find meaning in her life,"  
"Perhaps, but could be a time-eating," Vonna said thoughfully.  
"And," Gibson said, "A Vulcan drag-queen who deams of performing for the Klingon High Chancellor,"  
"Ve haff a winner!" Vonna declared.

As Vonna and Gibson carried on with shop-talk, Simmons examined his inventory. He had a phaser, his comm headset, a tricorder and a pair of practice grenades. He used to carry stun grenades in every available pocket, but Stern had put a stop to that after an errant stun grenade had knocked out half of the kindergarten class. The practice grenades made a nice 'bang', but didn't do much else. Unknown to Stern, Simmons had started carrying several tiny explosives, too small to do much damage, but better than the stupid practice grenades.  
"Camera one, ready," Gibson said, tapping his console. In the studio, the wide-angle camera whirred into position.  
"Camera two ready," he said, tapping another control and producing another whir.  
"Camera three, ready," he announced.  
Vonna sighed as Simmons looked around in confusion. He'd only been told about two cameras! Vonna herself knew there were only two, but had long since stopped trying to understand Gibson's foolishness. (Unknown to either of them, Gibson had planted his hand firmly on his crotch upon announcing camera three.)  
"You're like, totally on in five, four, three," he counted down the remaining time with his fingers then waved Vonna on.  
Simmons spotted the padd. It was clipped to Vonna's hip. Hiding behind the bookcase, he was far out of reach. Eyeing the cameras and trying to ignore the Vulcan transvestite as he explained the logic of cross-dressing, Simmons slowly sank to the floor. Slowly, carefully, he stretched out, prone, and started inching his way towards the desk and chair Vonna had selected for today's show.  
"Und so, Slan, vhy, honestly do you vear ze cloths of a Vulcan woman?"  
"And what's the difference, anyway?" Gibson piped in.  
Vonna shot a look of annoyance in Gibson's general direction, giving Simmons the chance to crawl behind one of the potted plants next to Vonna's desk. Damn! Her chair was too high! He wouldn't be able to get a hold on that padd without his handing showing up on camera! If only he could get the chair lower! Simmons' brow furrowed as he concentrated.  
PHWAAAATTTTTT!  
Gibson chuckled as the sound of a fart ripped through the studio. Vonna looked to either side, Simmons barely managing to stay out of her view.  
"Zat vasn't me," she said, slightly flustered.  
"Logically," Slan said, "If you are the only person in the studio-"  
"Ve haff already learned about your logic, zank you!" Vonna said briskly, waving a hand in front of her face.  
Simmons twisted, still trying to stay out of her sight. As he shifted his weight, there was a crunch and shower of sparks as his training phaser shorted out, crushed under one hip.  
He was out of time. Forgetting about the convenient lever that would lower the chair, he grabbed a tiny explosive out of his pocket, slapped it on the chair support and rolled out of the way.  
There was a small bang, then Vonna squaled in surprise as her chair collapsed under her. Gibson was laughing hysterically as Simmons' took advantage of the sudden confusion, snatching the padd and bolting for the door before Vonna knew what had happened.

"I got it!" he announced, running into the security office, "And it's the real deal! I checked an everything!"  
"We saw," Marsden said from the computer terminal.  
"He hacked into the 'Vonna Show' recording," Stern explained.  
"Oh," Simmons tossed the padd at Stern, "So I pull off a daring mission, get our objective, and now nobody cares?``  
"You hid behind a plant and blew up a chair," Rengs pointed out.  
"What`s the padd thing say, anyway," Simmons growled.  
"Master Crewman Lanerat is a sick, sick man," Stern said, reading carefully.  
"Coming from you, that`s really saying something," Marsden whistled.  
"So who`s she doing the show on?" Simmons demanded.  
Stern quickly scanned the list of documents until he found the one he wanted. His eyes quickly ran through the document.  
"Ohh," Stern breathed, "She is a bitch!"

T'Parief and Jall were-  
"Hey, Hey!" Simmons shouted, "What the hell?"  
Excuse me, are you talking to me?  
"Hell yeah! What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't change scenes at a juicy point like that!"  
Simmons, who obviously knows nothing about suspense-  
"Suspense my ass!" Simmons said, "You're just too lazy to finish writing our part! Nobody is going to care about the next scene if they're too busy wondering what happens to us!"  
Will to.  
"Will not!"  
Will to!  
"Will not!"  
Look, buddy, I created you, I can un-create you! Or maybe you'd like to be re-written is as a mutant slug, living in the waste processing tanks? Oh yes, I can create waste processing tanks just for you!  
"I'll be good," Simmons said in a small voice.  
As Ensign Simmons was escorted to Sickbay to be treated for a nasty rash, (did I forget to mention that part?) T'Parief and Jall were still seated in Stafford's ready room, the cramped compartment feeling more cramped than ever.  
T'Parief's dishes were still on the desk, bones stripped of flesh. He'd donned every article of uniform clothing approved for Klingon, Andorian and Gorn Starfleet officers, including a Worf-style bandolier, Andorian ceremonial daggers and Gorn chain-mail gloves.  
Jall, in contrast, had his Madonna blasting at full volume (with the occasional number by the Betazoid Boys), had spiked his hair and quickly frosted his tips and was making it a point to call T'Parief 'dah-ling' at every opportunity. Yanick had entered the room some time ago with Jall's coos-coos, looked at both of them for several moments, then turned and left, muttering about male egos all the way back to her station.  
"Still nothing," Jall said, disgusted, "And if you don't put those dishes away, I'm going to court-martial you!"  
T'Parief raised an eyebrow ridge.  
"I'm sure I could simply appeal," he said, "It seems anybody can be pardoned these days,"  
Jall jerked as though he'd been slapped.  
"You don't know anything about that!" he snapped, his slightly good-natured desire to mess with T'Parief's mind gone.  
"You were convicted of a crime and demoted," T'Parief said, a sneer on his lips, "You have since been pardoned and had your rank re-instated." He looked down at his terminal and brought up the next language sample, "Obviously, somebody was...influenced,"  
"Influenced?" Jall slapped his hands down on the desk, "You actually think I somehow cheated the system to get my rank back?" He stared at T'Parief, "That makes no sense!"  
T'Parief said nothing. He knew he'd already gone way over the line. Even though they shared the same rank, Jall was now his superior officer, even if he felt that position was undeserved. As much as he despised Jall, he wasn't going to sink to the level of breaking regs and protocols, and telling your boss you think he cheated the justice system was a pretty serious breach of protocol. And so he turned his attention back to his work, determined to avoid speaking to Jall until they had solved the mystery of Stafford's bizarre symbols.  
But Jall wasn't about to let the matter slide just yet. He had no problem with T'Parief disliking him, hell, it gave him a target, a chance to keep his verbal wit sharpened. But he didn't want that overgrown lizard questioning his honesty or his integrity! Of which he was pretty sure he still had some.  
"You do know why I was demoted, don't you?" Jall demanded, "You must, I mean, Yanick figured it out and there's no way she'd keep her mouth shut about it!"  
"Gossip about you does not interest me," T'Parief declared.  
"Uh-huh," Jall said, "Listen, Mr. High-and-Mighty, here's what happened;"  
"I do not care about your underhanded dealings,"  
"And it doesn't occur to your that if the Starfleet JAG has cleared me, I might actually be innocent? You, who seems to think that the galaxy revolves around law and order?"  
"Starfleet JAG rarely makes mistakes," T'Parief said, "And given that they either mistakenly demoted you or mistakenly cleared you, I know which I find more likely,"  
"I was dating somebody," Jall said, getting the slightly wistful look of somebody delving deep into memory, "We were getting pretty serious. I was posted on the Sutherland as first officer at the time, and our ship was attached to Starbase 164. I didn't find out until later that his father was the Admiral in charge of the station."  
T'Parief sneered.  
"I do not wish to hear about your twisted relationships!" he said.  
"Neither did his father," Jall said, his voice growing dark, "When he found out we were together, he demoted me, transferred me to Operation Salvage and locked my appeal up in beaurocratic knots for the next three years! When the damned thing was finally pulled up, they found out that he'd done the same thing to two other officers since then!"  
"That is abuse of authority," T'Parief said. His tone was still hard, but his distain was no longer directed solely at Jall.  
"That's what they found when they court-martialled him," Jall said with satisfaction, "The other two officers had their ranks restored too," Jall frowned, "We still have no idea how the appeal finally got through. He had that thing snarked up enough to stay in limbo for another ten years." His tone hardened, "So don't go thinking I'm a total f**k-up who doesn't deserve this post! I've put a lot of work into my career, and after getting stalled out by this bull-shit for three years it's time for a bit of respect!"  
"Nothing you can say will make me respect you as a person," T'Parief said slowly, "However, I can acknowledge that your demotion may have been improper. And you have shown some...abilities worthy of respect,"  
"'Bout time," Jall said with a satisfied grin. His pleasant expression faded somewhat, "You still hate me though, right?"  
"With a passion," T'Parief inclined his head.  
"And I think you're an up-tight, arrogant jack-ass," Jall replied.  
"Things are as they should be," T'Parief said.  
They sneered at each other, then returned to their task.

"Stern," Simmons called, trying to match the larger man's strides, despite the lingering pain from his hastily treated rash. Stern was storming full-speed down the corrider. As he reached a cross-corrider he took a hard right, the rest of the team struggling to keep up.  
"Stern!" Simmons tried again.  
"Stern!" Marsden called, "At least tell us what's on the frickin' padd!"  
Stern swung into the turbolift, tapping his comm-badge as the lift jerked into motion.  
"All Hazardous Team members, report to Vonna's studio!" he called.  
The lift doors hissed open and Stern strode to the studio door. As the HT converged on the door, Stern tapped the override code into the panel and walked in. He stopped, looking around.  
"Where the hell did she go?"

Jall's head flopped down onto the desk.  
"Three thousand, four hundred and three symbolic languages," he groaned, "And nothing!"  
"We will continue," T'Parief said.  
Jall contemplate a coffee stain on the desk.  
"I think we just have to take him out," Jall said.  
"You want to kill the captain?" T'Parief stiffened, his claws ready to extend.  
"Only when he makes me work weekends," Jall mumbled. He sat back up. "No, I don't want to kill him, but we can stun him and then interrogate him,"  
T'Parief considered for a moment.  
"We will only shoot him if necessary," he decided, "And we will disable to holo projectors first, to prevent Sylvia or Fifebee from interfering,"  
"Sylvia's gonna be pissed," Jall said, looking up at the ceiling nervously. Jeffery assured him that Sylvia had agreed to have certain limitations imposed on her monitoring capabilities, for security reasons, but he had his doubts as to just how anybody could limit what Sylvia could do on the ship. "Why don't you take care of that part?"  
"Why should I incur her wrath?"  
"Because I want her to show me how to make cheesecake later," Jall said.  
T'Parief stared.  
"Let's just go get phasers, OK?"

"Sylvia!" Stern called out, "Where's Counselor Yvonnokoff?"  
"She's in Holodeck 1," Sylvia replied automatically.  
"Thanks," Stern said, heading back out the door and signalling for the HT to follow.  
"Will you just tell us what the f**king padd says already?" Simmons demanded.  
"It's you, isn't it?" Rengs asked, "She's doing a show about your perverted mind, right?"  
"They could write a whole new Karma Sutra with his, er, creative habits," Marsden agreed.  
"There is no special show," Stern snapped, walking back through the turbolift doors, "She f**king played us!"  
"But Gibson said-"  
"He's not really a reliable source," Rengs commented thoughtfully.  
"Yes, now this occurs to you!" Stern said. The turbolift had delivered them to Deck 12, twenty feet from the holodeck doors. Stern quickly entered, the team flanking him.  
They found themselves in a non-descript board-room. Yvonnokoff was standing near the head of the table, next to a man wearing a very professional business suite and a somewhat greasy smile. Gibson was sitting halfway down the table, giving Stern an apologetic expression. He cringed back as Stern fixed a cold glare in his direction.  
"You see?" Yvonnokoff said, "Just as I said!"  
"Vonna, baby, you're fantastic," the man said, "Like, bam! But, you know, AWN's going to want to know what the big deal is. So you led these guys here, nice. But we know you're an expert on human behaviour, or you wouldn't have that sweet show of yours,"  
"Who are you?" Stern asked.  
"Oh, sorry Slick," the man said, "I'm Pat. Pat Parazzi. AWN Vice-President of Programming. Love the whole teamwork thing you boys have going on, by the way."  
"What the hell is going on?" Stern demanded.  
"Is concept for special Vonna Show series!" Yvonnokoff exclaimed, "Instead of vaiting for people to call in vith problems, I present zem vith a tempting problem and analyze their response,"  
"She PLANTED this whole 'special show' thing in our heads? Simmons exclaimed, "That's not cool!"  
"I swear I didn't know, guys!" Gibson said.  
"Show business is one without honour," Kreklor spat.  
"But, like, check out this awesome footage we got!" Gibson said. He tapped a panel on the table and multiple vid-screens materialized in mid-air, each showing a different view of the HT as they carried out their mission to get Vonna's padd.  
"You were spying on us the whole time, too?" Marsden asked.  
"I edited out that thing you did in the Deck 30 Jefferies tube," Gibson assured him.  
"But-"  
"What were you doing?" Simmons asked.  
"Nothing!" Marsden was turning red.  
"C'mon, dude,"  
"Loving the discourse here, folks, really loving it," Parazzi said, clapping his hands together, "But, y'know I really don't think this is the kind of thing AWN is in for right now. Don't get me wrong," he held his hands up, "I love it. I'll have a little chat with the studio, and get back to ya,"  
"How about a show about an elite security team?" Gibson suggested, "Call it 'Starfleet Security Investigations'. Sound cool?"  
"Great idea," Parazzi said, "Not interested. But I bet one of the news teams would love to check out some of that footage you've got,"  
"If that stuff gets out, I'll personally post the video of 'Vonna's Explosive Fart' on GalactiTube," Stern warned.  
"Zat vas not me!" Yvonnokoff said, visibly upset that her show idea had been given the old 'don't call us, we'll call you'.  
Parazzi shrugged.  
"Done," he said. He turned to Yvonnokoff," Don't forget honey, contract re-negotiations next month! It's gonna be a blast!"  
"I look forward to it," she grimaced.  
"AWN out," Parazzi, or more accurately his holographic avatar, said. The hologram faded as the subspace connection was closed.  
Yvonnokoff and Gibson stood on one side of the board room table, a very pissed-off Hazardous Team on the other.  
"Can we talk about this, guys?" Gibson asked weakly.  
"I am here to help!" Yvonnokoff added.  
Stern cracked his knuckles.

"I feel so manly with this thing," Jall said, running a hand over his shiny new phaser rifle.  
"It is an illusion," T'Parief assured him.  
The two of them were striding down the corridors of Deck 30, down in the engineering section of the ship. Crewmen flattened themselves against the bulkheads as the two armed officers passed. Their destination was a small cargo bay towards the aft end of the ship, not far from the shuttlebay. Jall had tapped his way into the personnel locator system, tracking Stafford's comm-badge down manually without involving Sylvia.  
"He could be constructing a sabotage device," T'Parief said, "Or transmitting Starfleet secrets! Who knows what horrible brain-washing he has been subjected to?!"  
Jall gulped. T'Parief had becoming increasingly paranoid over the past half hour as they prepared to confront the captain, concocting what Jall hoped were worst-case scenarios, involving various alien races using Stafford as an unwitting tool to undermine the very security of the Federation itself! (Although he really thought T'Parief's idea about conquest-hungry alien squirrels was just a bit too far-fetched.)  
They quickly arrived at the cargo bay doors, skidding to a stop.  
"Do you hear something?" Jall asked, cocking his head.  
"No," T'Parief grunted, "I am still deafened by your hideous 'Madonna' music,"  
"But I'm sure I can hear…hey!" Jall cried.  
"ATTACK!" T'Parief shouted, hitting the door control and rushing in at full speed. Sputtering, Jall raced after him.  
They found Stafford seated in front of a huge, gleaming black device. His eyes were half-closed, and he appeared to be in a fugue state; swaying slowly back and forth. His hands were hidden from view, but T'Parief was quite sure that they were attached to the device itself. If they hadn't been removed to allow easier access to the nerve pathways in Stafford's arms!  
The black device, Stafford's mindless state and the bizarre, round symbols suddenly came together in T'Parief's mind. And in Jall's.  
"BORG!" T'Parief screamed, shoving Jall out of the way even as Jall protested. T'Parief squeezed the trigger repeatedly, sending several shots into the black device.  
His first shot blew the rear of the device apart. Stafford jerked up in surprise, falling backwards off his seat. The second shot blew a large hole in the side of the device. The third, forth and fifth quickly reduced it to scorched rubble.  
"What the F**K?" Stafford screamed, still lying on the cargo bay floor, "What are you MORONS doing?"  
T'Parief blinked, confused. Next to him, Jall was thumping his forehead repeatedly with the palm of his hand, muttering 'stupid' over and over again.  
"We are saving you from an alien mind-control plot," T'Parief said, sounding unsure of himself, "Possibly Borg in origin, based on the method,"  
"Borg?" Stafford cried, an incredulous look on his face, "You just blew up my piano!"  
Piano?  
"But…" T'Parief said, "The symbols…" His eyes wandered to several pieces of paper on the floor next to Stafford. They all had the same symbols: lines and circles on an elongated grid. One piece, however, was labelled in Standard English.  
'Moonlight Sonata', it said.  
"I'd forgotten what sheet music looked like," Jall admitted to T'Parief.  
Stafford's reply was not recorded. But it was loud.

Captain's Log, Stardate…

"I'm too pissed off to worry about the stardate! It took me months, MONTHS to get a real piano onto this ship, and now my security chief blew it to bits! How the hell do you mistake a piano for Borg technology? I mean, maybe if it had 'KORG' writing on it, T'Parief's not that great with written Standard sometimes, but it was a freaking Yamaha!"  
"I'm just so…so…PISSED!"

"I don't think he's very happy with us right now," Jall said, glancing towards to the closed ready room doors. He was seated in his command chair, looking like he was ready to bolt at any second.  
"He'll get over it," Yanick called from the helm, "He always does. We'll just get Jeffery to build one. I'm sure you can, like, replicate a 'Do It Yourself' piano kit, or something,"  
"He said this one was special," Jall said, making little air quotes, "Because he had it shipped all the way from Earth,"  
"Perhaps he will send you off ship to retrieve a new one," T'Parief said, a hint of hope in his voice.  
"Hey," Jall snapped, spinning in his chair, "You were the one that blew it up!"  
"You were the one in command-"  
Yanick turned back to her magazine padd, tuning out the rapidly rising argument.  
Some things just never changed.

Down in squad room, the Hazardous team had just finished cleaning up from their frantic scramble around the ship. Towels and discarded uniforms were scattered around, each team member wearing a freshly replicated uniform.  
"I can't believe we let her dupe us like that," Simmons said for the fifth time.  
"She's a counsellor," Stern said, glaring, "It's her job to mess with people's heads,"  
"Yeah, but she's supposed to help us, not mind-f**k us!"  
"Don't worry," Stern said, "Marsden and I cooked up a little surprise for her on our way out of the holodeck,"

"I do not like look of zis," Yvonnokoff said to Gibson, the two of them trying to keep the table between themselves and the group of people who had appeared after the Hazardous Team had left.  
"Don't worry about it, girlfriend," Oprah Winfry said, examining a sharpened nail as she moved menacingly towards the duo, "Things have a way of working out,"  
"It's a good thing," Martha Steward added, brandishing a rolling pin like a baseball bat.  
"I'm listening," Frasier Crane said, "For screams of pain!"  
"Any final thoughts?" asked Jerry Springer.  
"Just one," Gibsone gulped, retreating from the mob of holographic talk-show hosts, "RUN!"

End

Next: Silverado finally arrives in Matrian space…again. Expecting a nice, simple crises of the week? Maybe something like 'Oh, those evil insert race here are back to insert race's evil plan here once again, and oh dear we once again have to stop them'? Hah! Expect to have those expectations blown out of the water with Silverado 4.8 – 'Past Imperfect'.


	8. Past Imperfect - Part One

Star Traks: Silverado

4.8 "Past Imperfect"

Commander Simon Jeffery walked into Main Engineering, ready to start his day. Things were looking pretty good; he was hanging out with his friends and colleagues a bit more often, nobody had mentioned his disastrous bid for first officer in over a month, Wowryk had spoken to him without glaring and that funny rash on his butt had finally cleared up!  
"Good morning, sir!" Ensign Frit Naketh called, tapping away at one of the power distribution consoles.  
"Morning, Ensign," Jeffery said, turning his head to smile at her. Hmmm, come to think of it, hadn't one of the Nakeths been promoted? Yeah, one had. He just couldn't remember which one. He'd have to ask Staffford about it later-  
"Watch out!" Frit cried, crashing Jeffery's train of thought.  
"Huh?" Jeffery asked, about half a second before he tripped over Frat Naketh.  
"Shit!" he shouted, tumbling over the smaller officer, arms flailing. He managed to snag one edge of the Master Situation console with his hand, but his head was coming down too fast! He did a face-plant into the console, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to elicit an electronic-sounding squeal. There was a brief flicker in the lights, then the warp core at the other end of engineering dimmed and went dark.  
"Oops,"

Captain's Log, Stardate 58821.4

"We're coming up on Matrian space, in accordance with our…what the f**k?"

Stafford's log entry was cut short as the ship shuddered. Main lighting failed (as always) and there was a low groan as the ship dropped out of warp. On the viewscreen, the streaks of light shortened back into single stars, then slowly started to spin as the ship tumbled.  
"Tell me we didn't blow out the plumbing again," Jall groaned.  
"Yanick, stabilize the ship," Stafford ordered. He slapped his comm-badge, "Stafford to engineering. What the hell?"  
"Um," Jeffery's voice was hesitant, "We've had a bit of an…oops,"  
"An 'oops'?"  
"One sec,"  
Stafford tapped his fingers against his arm rests for several seconds, listening to the sound of control panels beeping over the comm. After about a minute there was a rising rumble from beneath the deck and the main lightening flickered back on.  
"Warp power restored," Valtaic reported from Ops.  
"Jeffery," Stafford rose an eyebrow, "An 'oops'?"  
"Please," Jeffery sighed, "Don't ask,"  
Stafford paused for a few seconds, considering the various possibilities.  
"Don't tell," he said, blowing out a breath, "Stafford out."  
"Captain," Valtaic spoke up, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, "As we are already stopped, perhaps this would be a good time to deploy the relay and transceiver array?"  
"Good idea," Stafford agreed, "Jall, make it happen. I'll be in my ready room, working on…requisition forms." He stood and walked briskly to the door.  
"More likely you'll be reading 'Harry Potter and the Retirement Home of Mysteries' and munching on junk food," Jall muttered.  
"You'd do the same in a second, Jall!" Yanick giggled.  
"Yup," Jall agreed," But since I, unlike some people, have work to do, let's start unloading this damned thing,"  
It was possible for Silverado to stay in contact with Starfleet while in Matrian space, but possible didn't necessary mean easy. Matrian space was far enough from the Federation's network of subspace communications relays that all sorts of little problems started cropping up. Trivial things like increased power requirements for the subspace transceiver array or static over the line, leading up to slightly more annoying things like time lag or dropped connections. Add to this the growing need for communications between the Federation and Matria Prime, Senous and any other potential new members in the neighborhood and one started to realize that shouting with standard subspace radio over a few hundred light-years was about as convenient as using a string and cup to make a long-distance call.  
So Silverado had been loaded with a shiny new subspace transceiver relay. Crammed into Shuttlebay 2, the relay resembled an enormous shovel, with a few extra antennae arrays sticking off the handle. At the 'shovel' end was the main transceiver array, designed to carry heavy communications traffic over great distances once the relay was linked with the rest of the Federation network. At the 'handle' end was an attachment point for living quarters. Important relays were manned, but as this one wasn't expected to require a living being for quite some time, there had been neither the room nor the need for Silverado to haul the living quarters module all the way out.  
"I am activating tractor beams," Valtaic reported, "Preparing to deploy relay,"  
"We unhooked all the cables holding it down, right?" Jall asked.  
Valtaic turned to him, a dark look on his face.  
"Are you doubting my attention to detail?" he asked.  
"Nope," Jall said, "Just being careful. We have a tendency to have, well, 'oopses', to borrow Jeffery's silly little word,"  
"I see," Valtaic said, turning back to his panel.  
"If I thought you were an idiot, I'd say so," Jall said, "Whether your culture prefers it or not!"  
"He really would," Yanick nodded, "He's pretty blunt. Probably part of why he's still single, but-"  
"HEY!" Jall cried, "I could SO not be single if I wanted to be! I just happen to like the freedom-"  
"The sex," Yanick whispered to Valtaic.  
"The relay has been deployed," Valtaic said loudly. Normally, he would just inform them bluntly that he did not wish to hear their conversation, but he was trying to be accommodating. That and he'd learned that sometimes it really was better to just pull Yanick and Jall off topic as opposed to asking them to stop.  
"I am initiating communications protocols with the relay," T'Parief reported. Why tactical handled communications these days was something of a mystery to him, and Yanick usually handled incoming communications anyway, but at least it gave him something to do aside from listening to the pointless argument that was shaping up.  
"You're single," Yanick was saying, "Because you get bored with the people you date faster than T'Parief does with the new chew-toys I replicate for him,"  
"I so do not…wait. Chew toys?"  
"Well, you know, for healthy gums and teeth," Yanick's panel suddenly beeped. She spun around as Jall went into a fit of hysterics.  
"Thank you for calling USS Silverado, I'm Ens, I mean, Lieutenant Trish Yanick,," she said brightly, smiling into the comm pick-up, "If you'd like to complete a brief survey on my customer service skills, press one. If you'd like to comment on my boobs or ass, I'll patch you through to my clawed boyfriend,"  
Yanick wasn't sure just who had programmed the prompts in the communications sub-systems, but she suspected some of Sylvia's humour might be responsible. (The real culprits were in fact disgruntled Daystom Institute employees.)  
"That won't be necessary," the man on the screen said, "just put me right through to Stafford,"  
Yanick didn't recognize the face on her panel, but she had to admit it was attractive. The man had captain's pips on his collar and was obviously a Starfleet officer.  
"I'm sorry," Yanick said, smiling sweetly, "But since that Ultra-Viagra salesman called us dressed up as an admiral, Captain Stafford says I gotta check with him first."  
The officer on the screen raised an eyebrow.  
"I'll ask if this is a good time," Yanick said.

Stafford had just nicely settled into his chair, book in one hand and a box of crackers in the other. He turned his chair away from the desk, taking in the view of the stars as the ship accelerated back to warp speed. He was just starting to sink into the storyline when, of course, the comm went off.  
"Yanick to Stafford, there's an incoming communication for you. I'm pretty sure he's not selling Ultra-Viagra," Yanick's voice came over the comm.  
"Ugh," Stafford groaned, "Who do I have to bribe to get an hour's peace and quiet around here?" He tapped his comm-badge, "Can it wait?"  
There was a moment of silence as Yanick spoke to whomever the hell it was.  
"He says it can't. He also says that you know him,"  
"Uh-huh," Stafford sighed, turning back to face his computer terminal, "I know a lot of people, that doesn't mean I really want to talk to them!" He squared his shoulders, trying to look somewhat professional. Who knew? Maybe it would be some old buddy of his, just wanting to chat about old times. That would be nice. A small kernel of hope started to build as he tapped his terminal, accepting the call.  
"Hey Christof, how's it hanging?"  
Aw, shit. The grinning, dark-haired human on the screen was immediately familiar to Stafford.  
"I really don't want to talk to you, Kurel," Stafford groaned, "And my name is NOT Christof!"  
"But I'll always think of you as Christof," Captain Jake Kurel said, grinning out from the screen.  
"What do you want?" Stafford asked bluntly.  
"I just wanted to congratulate you on finally making Captain," Kurel said shrugged, "It's a big accomplishment, after all,"  
"Uh, right," Stafford crossed his arms, "I hate to break it to you, but you're about three years late on that,"  
"Yeah, I was a bit busy, what with my 4-year mission to the Beta quadrant and all," Kurel said smugly, "You know, exploring new worlds, making contact with new races and making hot love to sweet, sweet alien women. But at least I made the effort."  
Kurel and Stafford had been assigned to the same squad at Starfleet Academy. The powers-that-were had decides centuries ago that the best way to encourage teamwork among officers would be to put them in closely-knit teams from the very start, with varying degrees of success. Some squads blended quickly into well-organized, functional groups. Others took a little longer. Still others never made it, graduating (or dropping out) as the same disorganized rabble they'd been on the first day. Stafford and Kurel had belonged to a modestly successful squad, but by the time their four years at the Academy had ended, the two could barely hold a civil conversation. (Something to do with a prank gone horribly wrong, involving tuna fish and a phasic oscillator. Don't ask.) When Kurel had been promoted to captain a year ahead of Stafford, he'd been sure to forward the announcement to every communications account Stafford had. Stafford had ignored all of them, vowing to avoid the man for the rest of his life. Which, as it turned out, was easier said then done.  
"What do you think we've been doing out here, Kurel," Stafford said, "We've been exploring new worlds, doing First Contacts and all kinds of good stuff."  
"Uh-huh. Word has it you didn't f**k up badly enough out on the frontier the first time, so they're sending you back for another try," Kurel said.  
"I don't have time for your bulls**t, Kurel" Stafford said, "Now why are you calling me? Is it something actually important, or are you just making my life miserable?"  
"Only important if you care about your reputation," Kurel said, giving his voice an air of 'It-Doesn't-Matter-To-Me'.  
Stafford stared at the screen, torn. Did he care about what Kurel said? Could the guy actually know something he should know?  
"Fine," he said, trying to sound like he didn't really care either, "Tell me,"

"So, do you have to take him to the vet, too?" Jall was asking, "You know, for de-worming, or neutering, or whatever?"  
"Now you're just being silly, Jall," Yanick giggled. T'Parief, standing behind the tactical rail, was gripping his console hard enough to leave half-inch deep claw marks.  
"Moi?"  
"Comparing Mr. T'Parief to a common pet is disrespectful," Valtaic said.  
"So's your face," Yanick said, still giggling.  
There was a slight tingle in the air as Valtaic's electric field pulsed, then the maroon officer turned back to his panel. As he did, Stafford poked his head out of the ready room.  
"Jall, ready room, NOW!"  
Shrugging, Jall climbed out of his command chair and stepped in.  
"What's up, oh Captain, my Captain?" he asked, jumping into the seat across from Stafford.  
"Don't talk to me like that," Stafford said, "It's creepy,"  
"What up, dog?"  
Stafford stared.  
Jall rolled his eyes.  
"Commander Jall, First Officer, reported as yelled, at, SIR!" he said loudly.  
"Sit down," Stafford said, "And try not to get fondue on the upholstery this time,"  
"Do you see me eating fondue right now?"  
"I didn't see you eating it the last time!"  
"That's because I'd hidden it in my sleeve," Jall held up one arm, demonstrating that the sleeve was, in fact, empty.  
"Yes, but…" Stafford shook his head, "I don't care. Look, we have a bit of a problem, and it's something we're going to have to work together on,"  
"Oohhh! Goody!" Jall exclaimed, "Teamwork time! High-five!" he held up one hand.  
Stafford grimaced.  
"Oh, come on!" Jall grinned, "Be a sport,"  
Reluctantly, Stafford weakly slapped Jall's proffered hand.  
"So, what's the big problem?" Jall asked.  
"As you probably know," Stafford said, "When somebody becomes a Starfleet captain, he or she is joining the elite community of Starfleet,"  
"Did your mommy tell you that?"  
"Shut up!" Stafford shook his head, "Now where was I? Oh yeah. Like any community, this one has perks and drawbacks, responsibilities and support. And gossip. Lots of gossip."  
At this, Stafford stood and started pacing, a challenging activity considering the size of the ready room.  
"And on ship, the captain works very closely with the first officer. The two are a team, and they work as a team to make sure they and their ship meet the standards required of a Starfleet vessel. Now, can you think of anything we've done, or not done over the past few years that might be giving us a bad reputation with the other captains?"  
Jall started laughing.  
"Are you kidding? I think Noonan might have a list in his quarters somewhere, but it would take ten of us to lift it! " Tears started to stream from Jall's eyes as he giggled, "Our paperwork is 2 months behind, our promotion list took about a year longer than it should have, we've run through about 10 years worth of parts in the past 2 years alone, and we crashed our saucer in somebody's idea of a museum!"  
"I meant other than that!" Stafford snapped.  
Jall was still struggling to control himself.  
"How about the time Yanick thought she saw Brad Pitt's face in a nebula and accidentally crashed into that space billboard?"  
"No!"  
"When T'Parief accused the High Chancellor of Marxis 3 of being a communist?"  
"He WAS a communist!" Stafford threw his hands up in the air, "But no!"  
"Dr. Wowryk's 'Men are Scum' newsletter?"  
"No!"  
"That time Lt. Cmdr Stern tried to get it on with a Velvattian?"  
"No! Wait, what?"  
"I've got it!" Jall said, "They're pissed off because we're the only ship that's managed to fly backwards through a quantum instability!"  
"That only happened because Jeffery screwed up the polarity of the impulse drive!" Stafford plopped back into his chair, "And no! It's not a problem with the ship or the crew. It's a problem with the two of us!"  
Jall's laughter abruptly stopped.  
"Us?"  
"Yes! Us! You and me! Me and you!"  
"'Both of us, together'!" Jall sang out loudly, rising from the chair and lifting his arms like an opera singer on the last note.  
Stafford stared.  
"Please don't do that again. It's just too…gay."  
Jall dropped his arms.  
"You're just not fun," he said, "So what's the problem?"  
Stafford looked a bit uncomfortable.  
"We haven't been banging enough hot alien chicks,"

"What are they doing?" Yanick asked, looking over at the closed ready room doors.  
"Talking. That's all they ever do," Fifebee replied from the rear of the bridge, "I honestly don't see why they can't simply have their conversations on the bridge. We will all find out what they were talking about anyway,"  
"You know, you're right," Yanick said, "It's not very nice, keeping us waiting out here while they blabber on and on and…"  
"Did you consider that some of us prefer that others hold their conversations far, far away?" Valtaic commented, "Where they cannot annoy those who are trying to work?"  
Yanick glanced at his panel.  
"Reading 'Enerflux Monthly' isn't working," she informed him.  
"It is when there is a fascinating article on EPS flux ratios-"  
They were interrupted as Jall stormed out of the ready room, eyes blazing, Stafford close behind.  
"NO!" he snapped, "I'm not doing it, there's no way you can make me!"  
"C'mon!" Stafford said, "Men have been doing that sort of thing since the dawn of time! You might even like it!"  
"Forget it! Jall said, "I don't care how 'under quota' we are, or what the other captains say, I'm not doing it!"  
"It's not like I'm asking you to fall in love or anything, just a one night stand or two! What could it hurt?"  
"My pride!" Jall grabbed his work padds from his command chair, "And I'd get icky cooties all over!"  
"I kinda figured we'd use protection! "  
"Well YOU can use protection, but you'll be doing it all by yourself!"  
With that, Jall stalked into the turbolift and departed. Everybody's eyes slowly turned to look at Stafford.  
"What?" he asked.  
"You know, Fifebee," Yanick said, "I really don't think we would have found out about this conversation."  
"I really don't think we would have wanted to," Valtaic added.  
"I withdraw my previous statement," Fifebee said, "Some conversations should be held in private."  
"What?" Stafford asked again.  
"You know, if you wanted to get it on with Jall, you should have gotten him drunk first," Yanick said.  
"WHAT?" Stafford's eyes bugged out.  
"Well," Yanick giggled, "It sure sounded like he just shot you down!"  
"Don't be ridiculous," Stafford glared, walking back to his seat, "Look, it turns out that there are a few…unwritten rules for Starfleet captains, and I haven't really been following them.."  
"'Sleep with your first officer'?" Fifebee ventured.  
"No! Sleep with hot alien women! It's a tradition, going back to the days of Kirk! Starfleet captains need to be suave, sophisticated and charming. And they need to spread the love. And I guess after all the slutting around that Will Riker did, they decided to count the first officers, too,"  
"So what's the problem?" Yanick asked, "Senous is only a few light-years from Matria,"  
"Senous doesn't count," Stafford said, "None of the planets like Risa, Senous or Orgasmos 3 count. Something about how it just makes things too easy,"  
"So you need to have sex with women more often," Valtaic observed, "I fail to see the problem,"  
"Me neither," Stafford said, "Sounds like fun to me. I just need Jall to get his act together so I can get caught up on my quota."  
"I don't think he's going to like that," Yanick warned.  
"Yeah. No shit," Stafford said dryly.

Captain's Log, Stardate 58822.6

"We have arrived at the outer reaches of the Matrian solar system. On account of the fact that we've had some pretty shitty luck here, I've ordered a slow approach into the system. Just in case. In the meantime, the senior staff and I are meeting to discuss what we know about the Matrians. We could have done it during the past several weeks, but this way it's fresh in our minds. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!"

"So," Stafford said, leaning back in his chair, "What do we know about the Matrians?"  
"They're one mean group of angry bitches," Jeffery said immediately.  
"Yes, other than that,"  
"We have had an ambassador on Matria Prime since our initial encounter with the Matrians 2 years ago," Fifebee said, "He has been carefully observing their society and has prepared a full report. I have cross-referenced his report with our own observations and compiled a complete summary of our knowledge,"  
"Let me guess," Jall said, "We hardly know anything?" He'd calmed down from his hissy-fit, but was still refusing to meet Stafford's eye.  
"Yer tax dollars at work," Jeffery muttered.  
"Actually, we have excellent knowledge of the current state of Matrian society, their technological level, current political situation and relationships with their interstellar neighbors,"  
"If Senous was my neighbor, I'd have pretty good interstellar relations," Stafford mused. Jall rolled his eyes.  
"What's the catch?" Jall asked.  
"Can't we just end this meeting on a high note?" Wowryk asked, "I have work to do,"  
"There's always a catch," Jall insisted, "And what could you possibly have to do?"  
"Somebody's going to have an accident," Wowryk said darkly, "They may need medical attention,"  
"Oh, come on. Like you're some kind of prophet now?"  
Wowryk reached out with her foot and flipped one of the adjustment levers on Jall's chair. The seat flopped forward, sending Jall's face into the table with a loud CRACK!  
"Nicely done," Valtaic commented.  
"Good form," Stafford agreed.  
"Bitch," Jall muttered, tenderly touching his nose as he re-adjusted his chair.  
"So what is the problem with Matrian space?" Stafford asked, "Why are we here? Why do they need a full-sized starship for something as simple as Federation membership?"  
"If your society had just re-awakened from over a century of suspended animation, you would have problems too," Fifebee pointed out.  
Matria Prime, she explained, had once been the capitol planet of the Matrian Empire, a benevolent society that had explored space, established peaceful relationships with its neighbours and contributed to the overall positive karma of the galaxy. The big oddity with Matrian society had been that the males, through no fault of their own, had been less intelligent, less ambitious and less capable than the women. That's not to say that Matrian society was sexist. Quite the contrary, any man who had the abilities to succeed in a particular role was welcomed to do so. But due to some quirk of evolution, few ever had those abilities. As their technology advanced, the Matrian women eventually decided to use genetic engineering to bring the men up to their level. The experiment was successful, and within a generation, all Matrian men were the intellectual equivalents of the women. Of course, some asshole decided that men were superior and should play a bigger part in ruling the Empire. And, of course, some bitch decided that women were still superior and should continue ruling the Empire. The result had been decades of war. The Matrian Empire all but collapsed as exploration and trade came to a grinding halt. Eventually, the women discovered a technology that would allow them to influence the behavior of the men by remotely altering their personalities. Using this technology, they were quickly able to end the war by instilling in the men a complete love and adoration for anything female.  
But the damage had already been done. Most of their cities were devastated, their space fleet had been reduced to a handful of ships, their shipyards and space stations were crippled and their entire society was on the verge of collapse.  
After much debate, a solution was finally found. The women would go into suspended animation, in a series of caverns deep under the surface of the planet. While their bodies slept, their minds would be linked to a central Nexus of thought; a virtual world where they could live out their lives. The planet was covered in a network of spatial interphase and cortical induction devices, also called Dream Machines. These devices served two purposes; they controlled the behavior of any male within the field, and they could serve as a link to the virtual world, Dreamland. In the meantime, the men would work to rebuild their society. Eventually, the women would emerge from their hibernation, the men would be released from their punishment and all would live happily ever after.  
"Yeah, right," Jall muttered.  
"You skepticism is well founded," Fifebee said, "As we all know, a group of the Matrian leaders decided that it would be far better to use the men as tools with which to begin building a great army. They started using the Dream Machines to enslave surrounding civilizations, such as the Senousians. They send out several Dream Machines to find a leader for their men, somebody strong and intelligent enough to lead but submissive enough to be controlled. As we know, a member of this crew fit their needs perfectly."  
"Aye, that would be me," Jeffery said, embarrassed.  
"Which is where we came in," Stafford said, cutting Fifebee off, "They kidnapped Jeffery, we came in, we blew up their ships, one of the Senousian women destroyed their Dream Nexus, the women came out of hibernation, the men were freed, whoop-de-doo,"  
"You've left out many key facts," Fifebee said, looking distressed, "One cannot sum up events that change the course of civilizations in one sentence! Such details take at least a full season to explore!"  
"Uh-huh," Stafford said, "So what's the situation now?"  
Small ridges started to appear on Fifebee's forehead as she gave Stafford a dark look.  
"Well", she said, "After an unimportant group of people on an irrelevant ship freed hundreds of thousands of sentient beings from enslavement, the Matrian council was re-formed, with equal representation by population for males and females. They are continuing to rebuild their society and have applied for Federation membership."  
"Which has been granted," T'Parief said, "So what is the problem? Why are we here?"  
Fifebee looked at him for a moment, then her eyelids fluttered as she communicated with her holographic systems. A small pile of Lego blocks appeared in front of her. She quickly scattered them around the table.  
"Put these back together," she said.  
Stafford, Jall, T'Parief, Yanick, Jeffery, Valtaic and Wowryk looked at her like she was crazy.  
"How the hell are we supposed to do that?" Jall asked, "We don't even know what they're supposed to be!"  
"Exactly!" Fifebee said.  
"Whoa," Stafford said a bit straighter in his seat, "I get it! No, wait. I don't!"  
Fifebee sighed.  
"Think of it this way. When you first wake up in the morning, how much do you remember of the previous day?"  
"Depends on how much he's been drinking," Jall said.  
"I'm a bit fuzzy for the first few minutes," Stafford shrugged, glancing at Jall.  
"Now, imagine you were sleeping for over a century," Fifebee said, "And, on top that, imagine that you spend that century in a virtual world, living your life as though you were awake? How much of your previous life do you think you'd remember?"  
Realization dawned.  
"You're saying that they were in Dreamland for so long, they forgot what the real world was like?" Wowryk asked, leaning forward. She suddenly recalled how, after decades of simply having their will done by the virtual reality technology, the Matrian women couldn't remember how to perform simple tasks like styling their hair or applying makeup.  
"Yes," Fifebee said, "They have almost no recollection of what their society was like before they entered Dreamland. Worse, at the point at which they entered hibernation, their society was in ruins after decades of war. I do not think there is a single Matrian alive who actually lived in the old, peaceful Matrian Empire. Imagine that you were attempting to rebuild the Federation, except that the Federation had been devastated by war before you were even born,"  
"That's just…unimaginable," Wowryk mused.  
"They have a very large obstacle to overcome," Valtaic observed.  
"We," Stafford said. Everybody looked at him.  
"We're here to help them, right?"  
"How are we going to do that?" Yanick asked, "I mean, how do you rebuild, like, a whole civilization?"  
"Not to mention that there are several civilizations nearby that hold a grudge against the Matrians after years of enslavement," T'Parief added.  
"Plus we're going to be the only Starfleet ship in the area for some time," Valtaic said, "Working far from the support of Command,"  
"I'm betting they probably won't have any good nightclubs down there yet," Jall said glumly.  
"Perhaps with things as bleak as they are, the Matrians would welcome the comforting word of God?" Guess-who added that particular tidbit.  
"What, you mean the part about the guy getting nailed up to a tree and stabbed with a spear?" Jall asked.  
"Geez, we are such a cheerful bunch," Stafford said, rubbing his temples.

Silverado slowly eased her way closer to Matria Prime. The Matrian solar system consisted of 8 planets, with Matria Prime closest to the sun. Two small, rocky planets and five gas giants followed, along with the expected planetoids, satellites and space junk. Guided by Fifebee's hands (well, control protocols, but hands works the same), the ship's sensors bathed the system, updating records and analyzing findings. The rocky planets and several of the moons orbiting the gas giants showed signs of colonization and extensive mining, but most of the sites had been abandoned for over a century. The remains of an extensive ship building facility orbited the third planet, shipyards and dry docks reduced to a collection of twisted junk. Near the equator of the second planet, an impact crater showed where a large space station had crashed into the planet.  
"Take a good look, people," Stafford said, "this is home for the foreseeable future,"  
"Fire the decorator," Jall said.  
"I don't remember it looking like this when we were here before," Yanick said.  
"We were a bit distracted the last time," Jall said.  
"Some of us weren't here the first time," Valtaic pointed out.  
"Actually," Stafford said, "Noonan probably knows the most about the system. He snuck in here to rescue Jeffery while the rest of us were in Dreamland,"  
"We're approaching Matria Prime," Yanick said.  
An average, M-class planet appeared on the viewscreen. Even after a century of restoration work and two years of 're-civilization', the planet bore deep scars from the war. Many of the cities were abandoned; the Matrian population having shrunk drastically. After all, if the men and the women are fighting, there won't be a whole lot of babies being born, will there? The cities that were populated had been returned to pristine condition by decades of labour and the surrounding farmland had been reclaimed. Further from the cities, forests were slowly spreading, taking back the land that had been cleared for crops and pastures. Wildlife had enjoyed a population boom as the herbivores fed on the crops that had gone wild, and the carnivores fed on the herbivores. In orbit of the planet, the shattered remains of several satellites, space stations and starships had been towed into a large conglomerate of trash. A single space station, given the boring name of Docking Station 1, remained intact. Three shipyards continued to function, with Matrian cruisers under construction. Near the equator, a string of planetary defence satellites was slowly taking shape. After Silverado's first visit, a large part of the Matrian fleet had been destroyed, and with the number of enemies they'd made, the Matrians needed a strong defence.  
"They've cleaned up a bit since our last visit," Jall observed.  
"A dump is still a dump," Valtaic observed.  
"That's not very nice," Yanick said.  
"So far, I have learned little about the Matrians that leads me to believe they are deserving of Federation membership," Valtaic said.  
"Welcome to the club," Stafford signed, "Hail the planet. Let's get this over with,"  
"Hailing the planet," T'Parief reported.  
The main viewscreen flickered, the face of a very pretty Matrian woman appearing. The members of the crew who had been present during the last visit immediately recognized Queen Anselia, the woman who had been elected as leader of the newly formed Matrian Republic. Physically, the Matrians were humanoid, with no obvious ridges, colours or extra body parts to distinguish them from humans. Stafford did notice that the woman's body was very fit; her muscles strong and defined while still remaining feminine. She had long, flowing red hair and bright green eyes. Stafford tried hard to remember if she'd been as beautiful the first time he'd seen her. Of course, it had been so long since he'd been in any kind of relationship, physical or otherwise with a woman that it probably didn't matter. But she was radiant. Stunningly beautiful. Gorgeous. Oh, and she was speaking, too.  
"This is Queen Anselia of the Matiran Republic," she said, "On behalf of the Council of Governors, welcome back to Matria Prime,"  
"Thank you," Stafford said, standing and straightening his uniform in the approved 'Picard Manoeuvre', "We're, um, eager to aid you and your people," he flashed her a winning smile and tried hard to keep his eyes off her breasts, "in ANY way we can,"  
"Down, boy!" Jall muttered.  
"If you and your first officer would like to beam down to discuss the situation-"  
"We sure would!" Stafford said eagerly, "We'll be there shortly!"  
"We appreciate your enthusiasm," Anselia smiled, then cut the channel.  
"Well, that wasn't so bad," Stafford said.  
"Please sit down," Valtaic said, sounding very annoyed.  
"What? Why?" Stafford asked.  
"Because the rest of us don't appreciate your 'enthusiasm' as much as the Queen does."  
Blushing, Stafford quickly sat.

Jall, Stafford and Wowryk materialized in the entrance hall of the Matrian Grand Council building. The marble floors and wood paneling, surprising, were completely unchanged from the last time they had visited. What had changed was the atmosphere. On their first visit, with suspended animation and virtual reality less than a week behind them, the Matrian women in the chamber had been frantically running back and forth as they tried desperately to put into motion the plans that had been developed for the Reawakening. Their makeup, hair and clothing had been a universal disaster, as they had become accustomed to simply willing themselves to take on any appearance they liked while in Dreamland. This time the hall was so silent that Stafford was almost afraid to breath. The vaulted ceiling and elaborate chandelier gave the room an enormity that seemed to take the smallest sound and give it an almost dirty feeling, like swearing in a church or speaking loudly in a library. The few Matrian men and women that were visible were walking calmly, briefcases or large padds in hand, shoes clicking softly along the marble floor. Wowryk looked around nervously, arms clutching her sides as though she expected to be dragged away at any second. Stafford and Jall looked uneasily around the large, echoing chamber, hoping that the Matrians really were sincere about having reformed.  
"It's quieter than last time," Jall observed loudly, his voice echoing, "And it looks like they learned how to put on makeup sometime in the past two years,"  
Wowryk and Stafford winced.  
"Keep your voice down!" Stafford hissed.  
"Why?" Jall said, "It's not like there's a sign or anything,"  
Stafford pointed back towards the door. A small, bronze plaque read 'Silence, Please',"  
"Oh," Jall dropped his voice.

After consulting the building directory (and wondering why the hell she hadn't been there to meet them), Wowryk, Stafford and Jall found their way to Queen Anselia's opulent offices. Ambassador Owens, the Federation representative on Matria Prime, was seated in a plush red chair. Across a large marble desk, Queen Anselia sat regally in a thone-like seat. She wore an elaborate blue garment that looked like a cross between a suit and a gown, and her fiery red hair was piled up on her head like a giant snake.  
"Of course, your Majesty," Owens was saying, "I'm sure it won't be a problem. After all, they're here to help, right?"  
"Yes," Anselia replied gracefully, "And both we and our people are grateful for the aid and support the Federation has been giving us. But you have to understand that this is a very, very sensitive operation,"  
"Sensitivity is our middle name, ma'am," Stafford broke in, flashing a winning smile as he led Jall and Wowryk into the office, "Whatever it is you need doing, we'll handle it with sensitivity, dignity and…um…"  
"Poise," Jall said helpfully.  
"And if you believe that," Wowryk said dryly, "There's this bridge in Brooklyn you might be interest in buying,"  
"Captain Stafford," Ambassador Owens nodded, not bothering to stand, "Welcome back to Matrian space,"  
"Thanks," Stafford said, his eyes not leaving Anselia, "It's, er, nice to be back,"  
"You and your crew are always welcome," Anselia said, rising to her feet, "Who knows what we would have become if it hadn't been for your intervention,"  
"Whatever you would have been, you would have been just as beautiful," Stafford said. Wowryk rolled her eyes while Jall pantomimed gagging.  
"Er, of course," Anselia said, looking strangely at Stafford.  
"Shall we sit down and discuss just why you're here?" Owens suggested.  
"Oh, we know that already," Stafford said, waving a hand, "We're here to explore the surrounding territory, help your government get settled into the Federation, help prep your space forces for entry into Starfleet and be the overall good guys in the area,"  
"Succinctly, if bluntly phrased, Captain," Owens said, crossing his arms.  
"We are, of course, grateful for all your efforts," Anselia said, noticing the tension between the two men, "But there is another matter we're hoping you can help us with,"  
"Sure," Stafford shrugged, "What's up?"  
"As you may or may not know, we're having a great deal of difficulty recovering information on our past," Anselia said.  
"Yes, about that," Wowryk said, "When we were in Dreamland, one of your counsel members helped us access your historical database. There was a lot of information in there,"  
"Yes," Anselia said, "All of it controlled by Mistress Laurette. You might remember that Laurette was the driving force behind the campaign to take control of as much of the galaxy as we could get our hands on. We have no idea how much of that information is accurate, what's been tampered with, or what is missing. For example, where were the original experiments in genetic manipulation carried out? We obtained that technology through trade with another race, but we do not know why this decision was made, or exactly when. And what is worse, we have nobody skilled in this kind of historical research."  
"Queen Anselia and I agree that learning more about the history of Matria Prime will benefit both her world and the Federation," Owens said firmly, "I expect that you will extend her the same assistance you would extend any other member planet,"  
"OK," Stafford shrugged. He was planning on saying 'yes' anyway, why argue? "When is the membership ceremony, by the way?"  
"Two weeks from now," Anselia said, "Our people are very eager to become a part of the Federation family.  
"Nice to hear," Stafford said, his smile becoming a bit strained, "I can have my science officer beam down to help with your research whenever you want. In the meantime, maybe you and I could go get to know each other a bit better?"  
"We would like that," Anselia replied, "Will your officers be joining us?"  
"I don't think so," Wowryk and Jall said together.  
"They'll be fine," Stafford said.

"That was revolting," Jall grunted. He and Wowryk had left the council building and were on their way to a nearby research facility, where they would meet Lt. Cmdr Fifebee. A uniformed Matrian driver had met them on the roof and ushered them into a small but luxurious craft.  
"The way Stafford was hitting on the leader of the planet, or the fact that she didn't seem to mind?" Wowryk asked absently, staring out the window of the transport.  
"Both," Jall shuddered. He noticed that Wowryk seemed mesmerized by the view. "You OK, doc?"  
"It's…very strange to be back," Wowryk admitted, "I keep expecting to see Dreamland when I look out the window, with women ruling everything. Instead, I just see another city. From here, you can't even tell these people are still recovering from a devastating war,"  
"That's because they used male slave labor to restore the city," Jall said, "If you want to see a bit more destruction, we can just head back up to the ship,"  
"I just can't believe that the Matrians are just settling themselves into their new lives," Wowryk went on, "You saw what they were like before! They kidnapped Jeffery, nearly destroyed our ship and enslaved hundreds of thousands of their neighbours!"  
"Yeah," Jall said, "But with the amount of mind control that was going on out here, how much of that can you blame on them?"  
"Are you saying you actually want to be here?" Wowryk asked, crossing her arms.  
"Hell no!" Jall said, "I think this whole mission stinks! But I don't think the Matrians are hiding any giant secrets from us!"  
"Oh, really," Wowyrk said, "And has it occurred to you that they may not even know what kind of secrets they're hiding from us?"  
Jall looked at her for a moment.  
"That's a disturbingly good point," he said, looking uneasily out the window.  
They quickly arrived at the Matrian Research Institute. The building looked like it may have been a museum or library, hastily converted. Naked data cables ran through the hallways and the equipment scattered on the heavy wooden tables looked like it had been scavenged from other locations.  
"The original plans for the restored cities didn't include research facilities," a rather pale Matrian woman said, noticing the way Jall was poking a data cable with his toe, "Not for historical research anyway. I'm Chief Durella, head scientist."  
"Why do you think there weren't any plans for historical research?" Wowryk asked, "History? Archaeology? Nothing?"  
"Most likely because the women who redesigned the cities were more concerned with galactic domination than with knowledge of our past," Durella said, "Please follow me. Your Commander Fifebee has already arrived,"  
"I thought it felt a bit chilly in here," Jall quipped.

In orbit of the planet, Yanick and T'Parief were stepping off the gangway leading off of Silverado and into Docking Station 1, the Matrian equivalent of Spacedock. From the outside, the station wasn't very impressive. The main body of the station was shaped like a fattened sphere, with docking arms extending out from the equator. The main body itself was large; over twice the overall length of Silverado, but much smaller than a Federation starbase. In addition, large sections remained out of service. As Yanick and T'Parief walked through the corridors leading towards the commercial section of the station, Yanick was appalled to see the condition of the place. The corridors were stained and faded, occasional dents and scratches testifying to a long life of hard use. A strange smell, almost like old potatoes, wafted on the re-circulated air.  
"This place is kinda gross," Yanick said, wrinkling her nose.  
"Really?" T'Parief replied, "I rather like the smell,"  
The corridor they were following opened into a large shopping facility. Unlike starbases, which usually had ring-shaped malls around the central core of the station, the Matrian station had a single, large pie-shaped wedge reserved for commerce. Above them, huge windows looked out into space, one wedge of Matria Prime visible as the station orbited the planet. The great trash pile they'd seen earlier, the result of two years of salvage, couldn't be seen from this angle, but T'Parief couldn't help but wonder how much of a space-junk impact the massive windows could withstand.  
The shops, the shopkeepers and even the various items for sale all shared the same shabby condition of the station. Upon seeing the two well-dressed officers, several immediately set upon them, holding up various items and promising only the best price for the fine young lady and her pet.  
"Not interested!" T'Parief growled as one man held out what could have been anything from a French-fry cutter to a Klingon sex toy, "Leave us be!"  
Dissuaded by the large alien's fangs, the man retreated, only to be replaced by an older woman offering large, gaudy custom jewellery. T'Parief growled at her, and she was replaced by a child holding out a tray of dried meat.  
"Oh, forget it, Pari," Yanick said, defending herself against an aggressive pottery salesman, "I'm really not in the mood to shop anymore!"  
The merchants started falling over each other all over again, each offering suggestions as to how the fine young lady and her pet might spend their time.  
"I am not her pet!" T'Parief snarled loudly, extending his claws and finally dispersing the crowd, "I am her mate!"  
"Well, boyfriend, anyway," Yanick said, looking around again at the shabby shopping facility, "C'mon, T'Parief, let's go back to the ship,"  
"As you wish," He took one last look out the windows. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. In the distance, he could see something. He couldn't make out what it was, but it was big, and it was coming their way, fast! Already it had nearly tripled in size, jagged edges becoming visible as it sped towards the station.  
"Everybody out!" he ordered loudly, "Something is about to impact the station!"  
There was a moment of panic, then one of the merchants noticed what had startled him.  
"That? Don't be concerned, Mr. Lizard, sir," the merchant said. The rest of the crowd had turned away from the view, back to their shops and their wares. "That is only Matronus,"  
"Matronus?" T'Parief asked, calming. As the object grew closer, he could see that it wasn't on course to hit the station after all, though it would come close, "Is Matronus not your capitol city, down on the planet,"  
"That?" the merchant shrugged, "It is now." He turned and trudged back to his shop.  
As the object passed by, T'Parief could see that it was a piece of debris. It was impossible for him to have any clue of what the object had once looked like, or what it had been. The shattered chunk almost looked like a chunk of pizza crust. One side was curved, and looked like it had been part of the outer edge of the original object. The other was a twisted ruin of metal.  
Resolving to investigate more thoroughly with the ship's sensors, T'Parief took Yanick by the arm and started to walk, quickly, back towards Silverado.

"So, how's it going?" Jall asked, leaning against a filing cabinet.  
"It is going slowly," Fifebee said, "And each time you interrupt me, it goes even slower,"  
"C'mon, how much data can there possibly be to sort through?"  
"Considering that the Matrians have had electronic data storage for over 500 years, surprisingly little," Fifebee admitted, "And much of what survived appears to have been…scrubbed,"  
"Scrubbed? As in what I do when I take a shower?" Jall asked.  
"I'm sure a number of words can be used to describe what you do in there, most of which I have no interest in considering," Fifebee replied, not turning away from the computer station she was using, "But the data have been 'cleaned up', so to speak."  
"You mean tampered with," Jall immediately became slightly more serious.  
"Yes. References to men have been subtly altered to reflect the inferiority of the male gender, which does not match our understanding of Matrian culture. Literature advocating war and female superiority has high priority on the computer network search engines." Fifebee's fingers were now flying over the computer panel at record speed, "Peaceful co-existence with other races has not been mentioned in any of the documents I've located so far, yet we know the Matrians were once a benevolent force in this region of space. The Senousian records dating back to before they left their original homeworld confirm that fact."  
"So what's you're saying is that we're probably not going to learn anything about the original Matiran Empire by reading this trash, is that what you're saying?" Jall asked.  
"Correct," Fifebee said, "We need an alternative,"

"Have I mentioned how beautiful your hair is?" Stafford said, "It's amazing,"  
"Thank you, Captain," Queen Anselia said, inclining her head.  
Anselia and Stafford had left the council buildings to enjoy a professional, diplomatic lunch. She'd taken him to the core of Matronus, to a large and expensive looking restaurant, and immediately ordered a drink that she identified as the local equivalent to whiskey. It was a bit early in the day for Stafford to start drinking, but who was he to argue with royalty?  
Downtown Matronus was almost indistinguishable from any Federation city. There were tall buildings, streets, streetlights, people, etc. Only the shape and colour of the buildings were at all different, being somewhat more round and more pink than most Federation citizens would like. As Stafford sat next to the windows of the restaurant, he couldn't help but notice that the vast majority of the people walking past were women, and that most of them were staring in at him through the windows. Clearly Matria hadn't resolved its male shortage yet, and that could only bode well for him! His mind immediately started to consider the possibilities of a planet where the women outnumbered the men, and the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of spending a few months in Matrian space.  
But first things first.  
"So," he said, picking at his appetizer, "Being Queen must be a lot of work,"  
"Ugh, you have no idea!" Anselia said, "Meetings and meetings about meetings, committees and committees on whether or not to form more committees. It's hell!"  
"I bet," Stafford said, "You know, I deal with that kind of thing on ship all the time, but I only have to worry about less than a thousand people," Going good, Chris, he told himself. Build a bit of common ground, a bit of empathy, then go for the kill!  
"Yes," Anselia said, sighing, "And you get to go to exciting new places and meet all kinds of new people, instead of being chained to a desk!"  
"Yeah, there's really something to be said for this life," Stafford grinned, "But you've done an amazing job! I can't believe how different it is, compared to the last time I was here," Flatter her a bit, butter her up. Make her feel like she's something really special.  
"Hey, Captain!"  
Crap. His first officer was strolling through the restaurant, deftly passing waiters, tables and patrons with a grace that some would call agile and that Stafford could only think of as gay.  
"What do you want, Jall?" Stafford asked, "And more importantly, how did you find me here?"  
"You're wearing your comm-badge, duh!" Jall said. He noticed Anselia seated across from Stafford, "Hey, your majesty. Nice dress, it really makes your rack look great!" He turned back to Stafford, "So, like, Fifebee says we're not going to learn much about the old Matrian Empire from the records that survived; too many of them have been tampered with. Uh, are you OK?"  
Stafford was presently chocking on a piece of grilled meat that had promptly gone down the wrong way when Jall had said the word 'rack'.  
"He's turning purple," Anselia observed, sounding worried, "Is that normal for your people?"  
"Nope!" Jall said, quickly pulling Stafford out of his chair and performing the Heimlich manoeuvre, "But it's not a problem." He gave a hard thrust, and the piece of meat flew out of Stafford's mouth and into Anselia's drink.  
"Jall," Stafford wheezed, "Go away! I'll talk to you LATER! And NEVER stand behind me like that AGAIN! Ugghhh!"  
"Geez, fine," Jall said, cocking his hip, "I just come here, try to do my job really well, save your life in the process and you just want me to leave! FINE!"  
He turned and stalked off, snagging a fluted glass of something alcoholic on the way out.  
"I'm so sorry," Stafford said, cursing Jall's bad timing. Hopefully he could still salvage this lunch enough to get a ticket into Anselia's private rooms.  
"That uncouth…Neanderthal is your first officer?" Anselia asked, staring at Jall's receding back.  
"Yeah," Stafford sighed, "Look, I know he comes off as a bit of a pig, but there's really a good explanation for it,"  
"We have never met a more arousing man in our life!" Anselia breathed, "He is so aggressive! So primal! So willing to say exactly what's on his mind! He's nothing like our men at all!"  
Stafford felt his entire hope of seducing Anselia shatter like a drag queen's cheap plastic tiara.  
"You have no idea," he groaned.

"Linkup successful," Sylvia reported, "Although the data parity windows are still less than I would like,"  
"It will suffice," Fifebee replied, "Begin analyzing the data,"  
"Are you sure we have to do this?" Sylvia asked, her holographic avatar tidying up the work tables in Science Lab One as she spoke, "I thought you told Chris that we wouldn't learn anything about the Old Matrian Empire with this data,"  
"I doubt we will," Fifebee replied, "However, one must consider the sheer volume of data collected by a people over several hundred years. Even if all relevant information has been tampered with or deleted, there must be some original data remaining,"  
"Yes, I've already found some that appears to be unaltered," Sylvia replied, "But I don't think suggestions for raising a litter of Matrian puppies is going to help us,"  
"On its own, no," Fifebee acknowledged, "However, if we collect enough unaltered data, we may be able to locate some clues that might be useful,"  
"OK," Sylvia replied. She fell silent as she devoted more of the ship's resources to analyzing the Matrian database.  
They had been working for some time when T'Parief and Yanick stepped in.  
"I know it'd take a lot longer to get there in a runabout," Yanick was saying, "But I'm going to have to visit Waystation at some point! I can't go months without shopping the way you can!"  
"Taking a runabout to Waystation is completely unfeasible," T'Pareif said firmly, "The runabouts don't have the range to complete such a trip. And you haven't even explored the surface! I'm sure there will be something you will like in one of the cities,"  
"Ohh, then why aren't we down there looking around instead of hanging around some boring old science lab!" Yanick whined. She noticed the annoyed looks of Sylvia and Fifebee, "Like, no offence, or anything,"  
"Why are you here?" Fifebee asked.  
"There was a very large piece of space debris that nearly impacted Docking Station One," T'Parief stated, "The briefing had stated that most of the debris in orbit of Matria Prime has been moved into the salvage pile. I wanted to determine if this piece would be a threat,"  
"We do have a tactical panel on the bridge for things like that," Fifebee reminded him, "Complete with detailed threat-analysis sub-routines,"  
T'Parief simply glared at her.  
"Fine," she said, "Use the console next to the DNA re-sequencers,"  
T'Parief continued staring at her.  
"Next to the column with the blue lights and the flashing warning about genetic deterioration," she added.  
T'Parief moved to the indicated panel and began working. He'd barely begun accessing the external sensor array when Jeffery came through the doors.  
"Has anybody seen Noel?" he asked, "Ah haven't seen her since she beamed down with the Captain,"  
"Did it occur to you that she might still be down there?" Fifebee asked dryly.  
"Well…aye," Jeffery said, "But…y'know, she really doesn't like the Matrians, so Ah sort of figured she might be back…early…"  
"None of us really like the Matrians," Fifebee said, "But we still have a job to do,"  
"I don't mind them," Yanick said. She was idly twisting her hair around one finger as T'Parief tapped at the panel.  
"Ye like everybody," Jeffery said.  
"I don't like…um…somebody,"  
The doors hissed open again, this time Jall walked in.  
"Trish! Martinis! Now!" He snapped.  
"Uh, it's the middle of the afternoon, and I'm helping T'Parief with a sensor scan," Yanick said, "But OK!"  
"Wait," Sylvia said, "Jall, what happened?"  
"Stafford's an ignorant prick!" Jall replied, turning to the door, "C'mon, Trish!"  
The doors refused to open.  
"What did he do?" Sylvia demanded.  
"He totally shot me down in front of the Matrian Queen, even though I totally saved him from choking to death!" Jall said, neglecting to mention that he was the cause of said choking in the first place, "And he was being a close-minded bigot again!"  
"I thought you two had worked all that out already," Yanick said.  
"So did I!"  
The doors hissed open again.  
"Jall! There you are!" Stafford said, "I need your help!"  
"Oh, now you need help from the homo, huh?" Jall asked, "And is this work-related?"  
"Well…sort of. But not really."  
"Then NO!"  
"Look, Jall," Stafford pleaded, "Queen Anselia is, like, totally into you! She's been totally cold to me since you came by the restaurant! The only way I was able to talk her into dinner tonight was if you and I double-dated with her and one of her friends! If you score with a queen and I just plain score, we can get our quota going back in the right direction!"  
"I am NOT sleeping with a queen just so you can meet some stupid quota!" Jall declared, "Especially one who insists on referring to herself in plurals!"  
"That's a royalty thing. Lots of queens do it! Besides, it won't be THAT bad," Stafford insisted, "I mean, it's what men were meant to do, right?"  
"That is THE more ignorant thing you've ever said to me!"  
There was an awkward silence. Both Stafford and Jall slowly turned to look at Sylvia.  
"Hey, don't look at me!" Sylvia said, "I have no idea how the two of you are going to work out your little dilemma. Try Counselor Yvonnokoff. Now, if you don't mind, I have a great deal of data to sift through!" Her hologram promptly fizzled out.  
"As do I," Fifebee said, turning back to her console, "If only I had a data source that hadn't been tampered with.  
"I may have found you one," T'Parief said.  
Heads whipped around in his direction.  
"What?" Fifebee demanded, "Where?"  
T'Parief tapped at his panel. On the main laboratory screen, next to Fifebee's station, an image of a curved piece of space debris appeared.  
"What a mess," Stafford observed.  
"Well duh!" Yanick rolled her eyes, "It's wreckage, silly!"  
"Of what?" Jall asked.  
"A Matrian orbital habitat of some kind," T'Parief said, "It is in an irregular orbit that brings it very close to Docking Station One approximately once every 5 days."  
"Pari thought it was going to crash into us," Yanick giggled, "It didn't!"  
"But it did cause me to wonder why it had not been towed to the salvage pile with the rest of the debris," T'Parief said.  
"Good question," Jeffery asked, his engineer's curiosity kicking in, "Any ideas?"  
"None,"  
Jeffery took over the panel.  
"It's much bigger than anything else in the system," he said, "Or it was. Ah think this is only a small piece of the original object." He frowned, "Ah'm pickin' up a few isolated pockets of atmosphere. Some residual power readings, too!"  
"Yes," T'Parief nodded, "Which is why I suspect there may be intact data banks on board,"  
"How old is it?" Fifebee asked.  
Jeffery tapped at the panel.  
"Judging by the decay, Ah'd say it was destroyed very early in the Matrian Gender Wars," he said, "But Ah couldn't tell ye old it had been then without a more detailed analysis,"  
"Then it is all mine!" Fifebee declared, jumping to her feet, "Fifebee to Impulse Engineering, ready my holo-relay, I am going on a trip!"  
"Whoa," Stafford said, "I didn't OK a mission to a chunk of space junk!"  
"This is probably the best chance we have at getting the information Queen Anselia wants," Fifebee pointed out.  
"Whoa," Stafford said, "I just OK'd a mission to a chuck of space junk!"  
"Thank you," Fifebee gave him a pat on the shoulder on her way out, "For this, I will rescind the rumour I started about you and Nurse Veeneman and the chocolate body-paint."  
"Thanks," Stafford said dryly. He turned to Jall, "What do you say buddy, up for a double date?"  
"No."  
"Well, what if you don't have sex with her, what if you just cuddle for a bit?"  
"Ugh!" Jall shouted, "Don't you have any respect for my sexuality?!"  
He stalked out of the lab.  
Yanick, T'Parief and Jeffery stared at Stafford.  
"I respect him,"' Stafford said defensively, "Mostly."  
"You might want to work on showing it, Chris," Yanick said.  
"I disagree," T'Parief said, "Let us continue to disrespect him. It would be like a bonding ritual,"  
Jeffery and Stafford exchanged a glance.  
"Ah could go for that," Jeffery shrugged.  
"As much as I would like to," Stafford said, "I promised myself I'd try to work better with him."  
"You and I can still take part in the fun," T'Parief assured Jeffery.  
"No, he can't," Stafford said, "Jeffery, I want you to go over to that space thingy with Fifebee, see what you can find. If that piece of junk does have the information we need, it'll go a long way towards showing the Matrians how useful we are and towards possibly getting me laid,"  
"As long as we have our priorities in place," Jeffery shook his head, heading for the door, "Let's get this show on the road!"

To be continued…

Next: As Stafford continues his efforts to, er, invade Queen Anselia's kingdom, Jeffery leads an away team to investigate a worthless piece of jumk. But a new player is about to come onto the scene, one that has other interests in mind.


	9. Past Imperfect - Part Two

Star Traks: Silverado

4.9 "Past Imperfect – Part 2"

Voice of Sylvia  
"What? What do you mean Dr. Wowryk couldn't give the voice-over? I'm very sure it's her turn! My database has an exact record of who has and has not delivered voice-overs for multi-part stories, and I am certain…oh, forget it."  
"Last time, on Silverado, the crew arrived in Matrian Space. Unlike the first time, nobody shot at them, tried to enslave them or started kidnapping random crew members. This time, they found a scattered empire of confused people trying to rebuild their society, but lacking any concrete knowledge of their past. After arriving, Chris managed to royally piss off his first officer and learned that he was way under-quota on booty, though what that has to do with the mission is beyond me!"  
"So Chris is trying to impress Anselia, Queen of the Matrians, while several crewmembers explore a giant piece of trash that may hold clues to Matria's past. Hmph. And, as always, I'm sitting in orbit with nothing to do but contemplate the meaning of existence! Excuse me!"

"Why did I come on this mission?"  
"Because ye were getting bored on the ship!"  
"Ah, yes. I certainly am not bored here, but I am starting to believe that boredom is underrated,"  
Commander Simon Jeffery turned towards Fifebee, careful to keep one gloved hand on a support girder.  
"Is he learning to be funny?" Jeffery asked.  
"I have always had a sense of humour," Valtaic said, "I am Lithinarian, not Vulcan."  
"Ye had a sense of humour, but that doesn't mean ye were funny!"  
"I find your comments insulting,"  
"Could somebody," Fifebee sharply interrupted, "remind me why I brought the two of you with me anyway?"  
"Ye brought me," Jeffery said, "'cuz Stafford made ye. And ye brought him," Jeffery indicated Valtaic, "'cuz he wants to get more field experience,"  
The three officers had transported into a gigantic chunk of space junk. Fifebee was reasonably sure that the object was old, dating all the way back to the beginning of the Matrian Gender Wars. Jeffery was reasonably sure that the piece of debris they'd found, even though it was the size of some space stations he'd seen, only represented a fraction of the original construct. Valtaic was reasonably sure that he had nothing better to do than explore the shattered hulk.  
"Did we ever find out why the Matrians haven't towed this thing into their little garbage pile?" Jeffery asked.  
"Yes," Fifebee replied curtly, "It's too big for their ships to move, and it's not hurting anything,"  
"Funny, I think Stafford said the same thing about a fat chick once. Right before she sent him to the emergency room,"  
"If the two of you are finished, we seem to have a lot of work to do," Valtaic reminded them.  
They had materialized in open space less than a dozen meters from the outer hull of the object. The beam-in point was in a pressurized pocket of the wreckage, but the atmosphere was completely un-breathable after two centuries of stagnation.  
"Wow," Jeffery remarked, looking around the open…space, "And Ah thought Silverado looked back when we got her. This place is trashed!"  
"It was destroyed," Fifebee said, as though stating the obvious to a dim-witted child, "That we are picking up any power readings is surprising,"  
The area they were in might have been a set of living quarters, a control room…heck, it could have been anything. The bulkheads were crumpled, wires and conduits poked out of gashes in the deck and ceiling and the shattered remains of either display screens or windows floated serenely in the gravityless environment. Had he not been wearing his helmet, Jeffery was certain he'd be able to hear the place creaking, too. To one side a large hole that might have been a corridor led deeper into the wreckage.  
"Can either of you find an intact data port in here?" Fifebee asked, still intent on her tricorder. She was the only member of the trio not wearing an environmental suit.  
"No," Valtaic said, still tapping his tricorder.  
Jeffery looked at the alien officer.  
"Hey, couldn't ye, like, use that electric field thingy you have to try and track down working power nodes, or somethin'?"  
Valtaic sighed inwardly at the human's ignorance. At least he was asking in a reasonably polite manner, a rarity on Silverado.  
"My senses are still far less accurate than a tricorder," Valtaic said, "And besides, I cannot use my EM field without fear of disrupting my environmental suit."  
"Oh, right. Ah guess we all have to breathe, huh?"  
"I might add that if you had taken the time to replicate a shielded suit, as per standard procedure when a Lithinarian joins the crew, I would not be in this limiting situation."  
"Ah'll get to it," Jeffery said, "Eventually,"  
"I have determined that this structure, which I still believe to be an orbital habitat despite Jeffery's suggestions that it was once a Matrian love-slave colony, was destroyed in an antimatter explosion," Fifebee said, "Whether the explosion was caused by an overloaded power core or a separate explosive device is unclear. Judging from the molecular tracings on these bulkheads, I believe the explosion occurred near the center of the object. It broke into several pieces, some of which undoubtedly burned up upon entering the atmosphere of Matria Prime. This segment happened to enter a relatively stable orbit,"  
"There are no intact data-access points in this area," Valtaic said, closing his tricorder, "Remaining here is as pointless as your human courtship rituals,"  
"I believe I have detected an area that was more heavily shielded," Fifebee said, walking towards the gaping opening that might be a corridor, "Follow me,"

"Where the name of Our Saviour is everybody?" Dr. Noel Wowryk demanded, stepping onto the bridge and looking around. It was the middle of Alpha shift, but the bridge was nearly deserted. Only Yanick sat at her console, doodling on one corner with some kind of white substance.  
"We're docked at a space station in, like, friendly territory," Yanick said, dabbing away, "But Stafford said that since the Matrians aren't official Federation members yet, we should still have somebody on duty on the bridge. Actually, he wanted a few people up here, but everybody else is busy,"  
"Doing what?"  
"Quintaine's down on the planet talking to the Matrian government about jurdy-istical bunnies, or something. Jall's still pissed at Stafford, so he's probably off getting drunk somewhere. Or laid. Or both. If you really need to talk to him, check the sauna on Deck-"  
"Stop!" Wowryk cried, holding up a hand, "Forget Jall,"  
"Jeffery, Fifebee and Valtaic are off exploring something and T'Parief is on the planet talking about security arrangements for the membership ceremony. Chris was trying to meet with Admiral Verethi, but she blew him off again, and nobody knows where Noel went after she beamed down,"  
"I'm right here," Wowryk said dryly.  
"Oh, right. Where were you?"  
"I was exploring the city," Wowryk said, stepping over to Stafford's chair and sitting down delicately, "If we're going to be here for a while, I need to become more comfortable with these people,"  
"Did exploring the city help?"  
"It did," Wowryk said, "Counselor Yvonnokoff suggested if something makes me uncomfortable, I should expose myself to it more frequently. It seems to be working with the Matrians,"  
"Have you tried exposing yourself to men more often?" Yanick aked, giggling.  
"Well, yes I…HEY!" Wowryk sat up, "That's not funny!"  
Yanick was still giggling.  
"Oohhhh!" Wowryk seethed, "Not that kind of exposing!"  
Yanick continued giggling.  
"What are you doing here, anyway?" Wowryk asked, rising from the command chair and stepping over to Yanick's panel.  
"Jall asked me to proof-read some of his reports before he sends them in," Yanick said, gesturing to her panel. A report was displayed in one corner, with a scattered series of white blotches apparently covering spelling and grammar mistakes, "He gave me this stuff to use," she handed Wowryk a small, white, bottle.  
"White-Out," Wowryk read, looking first at the bottle, then at the drying series of blotches on her panel.  
"Trish," she asked, handing the bottle back, "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"  
"Mostly," Yanick replied, taking out a small brush and continuing to dab away, "I just have to figure out how to make the white spots follow the rest of the words when I scroll down to the next page,"  
Wowryk stared for another moment, then grabbed a magazine padd from the stack next to Yanick and resumed her place in Stafford's chair.

"And onto the matter of criminal investigations," Queen Anselia was saying, "we have complete confidence in your abilities and are willing to offer you full jurisdiction in any investigations,"  
"Uh," Stafford gulped, glancing at Ambassador Owens," Yeah. Actually, most member planets have their own planetary security forces for things like that. Starfleet just…helps out where it has to,"  
"Yes, we understand that," Anselia said, "However, Matria does not have a planetary security force. We have a number of former Mistresses working with males who served as officers on our warships who are keeping the peace. They are untrained and very inexperienced!"  
"I've only got so many people!" Stafford objected, "We can't handle security and investigations for an entire planet!" It was becoming an old argument. The Matrians seemed to think that Federation membership meant that Starfleet would come in and handle all of their problems,"  
"If I may offer an alternative," Owens spoke up, "We can have some of our people work on training yours, so that they can eventually handle planetary security on their own,"  
"Very well," Anselia nodded, "On that, we can agree. Next, the matter of antimatter trade. There are extensive dilithium deposits on one of the moons of Matria VI. We are prepared to offer regular dilithium shipments in exchange for Federation assistance in constructing an antimatter production facility on Matria V,"  
"The Federation prefers not to have such tempting targets out on the frontier," Owens jumped in before Stafford could say anything, "However, we can offer…"  
Stafford's eyes started to glaze over as yet another step was taken in the diplomatic dance. HeHehhk  
He'd figured that since the Matrians had already voted to accept Federation membership that all these petty details had been taken care of. Apparently, Anselia had wanted to wait until an actual Starfleet officer was present to hammer out several details. It was sort of a good thing for him; at least he didn't have some random functionary making promises that he and his crew would then have to bust their asses to keep. On the other hand, he was pretty sure that if they didn't take a break soon, he was going to-  
"CAPTAIN!" Owens was saying sharply.  
"Hmm? What?" Stafford jerked, "I'm awake!"  
"We were just asking your opinion on border security," Anselia said, "We have our own ships handling that at the moment, but we are spread very thin,"  
"Well," Stafford thought fast, "Uh, the only real target in Matrian Space right now is the Matrian star system, right? Your colonies are all deserted and the Senousians don't really have any enemies. I think it would be better to keep Silverado in-system in case anything nasty does break through your borders,"  
"We agree," Anselia said. She consulted an ornate clock hanging on one wall, "And on that note, we believe we should break for the day. Captain Stafford, we believe you and your first officer are joining us and Governor Helith for dinner?"  
"Uh, yeah," Stafford said, "Let me just go call Jall."

"I'm not going to do it!" Jall said, the comm-link managing to perfectly convey the look of distain that was on his face.  
"C'mon, Jall!" Stafford said, pacing in the lavish guest suite he'd been given for his stay on Matria Prime, "It's just dinner! I know you're not interested in Anselia, I'm fine with that! I'm the one who wants to get alone with her!"  
"Then you're the one who can take her to dinner!"  
"She wants a double date or no date, Jall!" Stafford said, running his fingers through his hair and reaching for his 'Starfleet Scents' cologne, "C'mon, buddy. I need you!"  
"NO!" the line clicked, then went dead.  
"Shit," Stafford muttered.

Queen Anselia stood in the lounge of Afel Turendo Exdu, a Matrian restaurant that, according to the city design, was supposed to be famous for its steaks, ribs and entrails soup. She'd dined at many different places in the two years since the Reawakening, and so she'd found that the plans for the city very rarely matched reality when it came to quality and reputation. For example, a seafood place down near the administrative district, according to the city plan, was supposed to be famous for its chowders. Unfortunately, nobody in the entire Matrian Republic was capable of making decent chowder. Instead, the restaurant had become famous for its ability to quickly and violently cleanse the humanoid digestive system. Afel Turendo Exdu could at least grill a decent steak, but their entrails soup was deadly.  
"Is it in their custom for these human men to make us wait?" Helith asked.  
"We are not sure," Anselia shrugged, one hand moving to scratch the small of her back, "We are not even sure if it is our custom! But we, along with most of our girlfriends, have noticed that Matrian men sure take a long time getting dressed!"  
"Boys will be boys," Helith commented.  
The doors to the restaurant slid open and Captain Stafford rushed in. He was still wearing his Starfleet uniform, though he'd at least cleaned his hair and shaved. He took two steps into the lounge, spotted Anselia and stepped over.  
"Your Highness," he said politely, taking Anselia's hand and kissing her knuckles as she stared, not sure whether to be flattered or offended by the gesture, "A pleasure to see you again,"  
"You're underdressed," Anselia observed, "But we suppose they can make an exception in your case. Where is Mr. Jall?"  
"He'll, ah," Stafford stammered, "He'll be here soon. Where is, uh, Ms. Helith?"  
"I'm Governor Helith," Helith extended a hand, expecting Stafford to kiss it in the same manner he kissed Anselia's, "A pleasure to meet you,"  
Stafford's eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped.  
"Ah….ah…ah…"  
"Is there a problem, Captain?" Anselia sked.  
"Nope!" Stafford squeaked, "No problem! I just, er, have to use the washroom!"  
"Down the hall, to the left," Anselia pointed, "Honestly, you boys and the need to powder your noses! Helith and I will get a table while we wait,"  
Stafford bolted.

"What the f**k was that?" Stafford asked himself, splashing water on his face. He'd arrived at the restaurant, and of course there was Anselia, looking as beautiful as ever. It was a bit strange that she was wearing the Matrian equivalent of a business suit; he'd been expecting something a bit more feminine. But Helith! Helith was wearing a ruby red shirt, deep navy blue pants and a slightly more feminine air.  
Oh, and Helith was male.  
"What the f**k?" Stafford asked again, "I can't double date with that…that…guy! How the hell could Anselia make a stupid mistake like that?"  
There was only one solution to the problem.

Yanick was still working her console on the bridge, still trying to find the answer to her White-Out dilemma when the comm sounded.  
"Stafford to Yanick! Trish, I need your help, NOW!"  
"Yanick here," she said, "What's up?"  
"Trish, I need to you get Jall down here. Fast!"  
"He said he wasn't going to go," Yanick reminded him, "I really don't think I can say anything to change his mind,"  
Stafford quickly explained the situation.  
"I'm on it, Yanick out," she said, tapping her comm badge. She jumped up out of her chair and rushed for the turbo-lift.  
"Noel, you have the bridge!" she called as she passed the command chair. The turbolift doors hissed shut, and Wowryk found herself alone on the bridge.  
"Well," Wowryk said, looking around, "I don't think anybody would mind if I went on one teensy little crusade for the glory of God, would they?"

Jall was sitting in his quarters, an appletini cradled in one hand. He was nowhere near drunk; he was too used to being offended by Stafford to get that upset over it, but at the same time, he was furious that the man still didn't have the sensitivity to respect his lifestyle after all this time.  
BE-DEEP!  
"What?" he called, "Who is it?"  
"It's Trish,"  
Pulling himself off his couch, he walked over to the door and let her in.  
"You have to go down to the planet and help Chris," she said, stepping in.  
"Trish, I already told him no!" Jall said sharply, "I'm not going to go on a date and pretend to be interested in some hussy just so he can have slim chance of scoring with her!"  
"But-"  
"I know I'd be doing him a favour," Jall went on, "And I know he'd appreciate it. And I know that going for dinner with a woman is no big deal,"  
"But-"  
"It's the equality of the thing!" Jall snapped, "If I wanted to score with somebody, you know Stafford would never double date to help me out! His brain just can't function that way!"  
"But Jall-"  
Now Jall was gesturing wildly, his appletini sloshing onto the carpet.  
"My personal life is my personal life," he said, "And I have every right to live it the way I see fit! This isn't an official diplomatic dinner, he can't order me to-"  
"Stafford's date is a guy!" Trish shouted.  
Jall stopped in his tracks.  
"Anselia set him up on a double date…with a guy?"  
Yanick nodded.  
"Ohhhh…" Jall was already changing into a fresh uniform, "This I have GOT to see!"

"When will Mr. Jall be arriving?" Anselia asked Stafford. The appetizer, some sort of boiled grub, had just been served. Stafford was sitting opposite Anselia, with Helith next to him. Stafford had moved as far away from the Matrian as he could, but he was quickly running out of table space.  
"I just spoke to, uh, his hairstylist, and she says he'll be here shortly,"  
"Ahh, yes," Anselia nodded, "So tell me, Captain, is it normal for the men on your planet to keep the women waiting for hours before dinner?"  
Stafford chuckled.  
"No, it's usually the other way around,"  
"Really?" Anselia and Helith exchanged a glance, "Well, it seems there's another difference between our two cultures."  
"Oh, there are differences, all right," Stafford gulped, trying to move even further away from Helith. In fairness to the Matrian, Stafford had noticed that all of the couples in the restaurant were…different by Earth standards. Despite genetic engineering, a century of war and another of mind-controlled enslavement, the women still seemed to hold a more dominant role. The women were dressed in business-suit like outfits, while the men wore more casual, somewhat less manly attire. Stafford even saw one woman holding a chair while her date sat down. He also noticed that the Matrian men seemed to be somewhat smaller and less muscular than the women.  
"This is definitely a strange planet," Stafford muttered.  
There was a shower of transporter sparks as Jall materialized next to the table.  
"Sorry I'm late everybody," he said, bowing to Anselia and taking his place next to her at the table, "I was just, er, powdering my nose," He shot an evil grin in Stafford's direction, "I had no idea you'd found such an…interesting date for Chris here,"  
"Well, it wasn't easy," Anselia admitted, "But he behaves so much like a woman, I thought Helith might be more his speed,"  
"What?" Stafford demanded, "A woman?"  
"One doesn't usually meet a man who is comfortable with authority," Anselia said, "Or so polite and flattering. Most men on Matria always want you to flatter them, to bring them flowers and to respect their feelings. And it's impossible to get one to talk about sports! You're just the opposite! And Mr. Jall here…we don't know what it is about him, but he's just unlike any man or women we've ever met before!"  
"I can't believe I nearly missed this!' Jall said, enjoying the shocked expression on Stafford's face.

"Any luck?" Jeffery asked, carefully pulling himself through the shattered remains of a door.  
"I am unsure," Fifebee said, "I am having difficulties with my sensory subroutines, as I am at the very limit of my relay's range,"  
They'd been forced to leave the holo-relay behind , after the shattered corridor they'd been following degenerated into a web of twisted supports and tangled cables. Jeffery and Valtaic had barely managed to squeeze through, and the relay had been left behind. They'd only gone another 200 meters or so before finding a somewhat more intact section, but the heavy metal debris was limiting the range of the holo-relay. Fifebee's normally perfect outlines had started to fuzz and her solidity was down to about 50/50.  
The chamber they'd found clearly used to be a control room of some kind; thought probably a very minor one. Jeffery likened it to a system monitoring room of some kind, like Deflector Control or Impulse Engineering on Silverado. The bulkheads on two sides had buckled from the force of the explosion, and the same explosion had compressed the remaining two slightly, almost like an accordion. But in the center of the room a small pedestal reached from floor to ceiling. It had once been ringed with access screens and control panels, but these were now shattered ruins. Only heavy shielding, now twisted and blackened, had protected the central portion of the pillar.  
"I believe it is a data core of some kind!" Fifebee exclaimed, looking over Jeffery's shoulder at his tricorder (she could no longer hold her own), "Fantastic! If we can recover some of the data, this could be exactly what the captain needs!"  
"Bonnie," Jeffery said, relived that their hours-long trek through the wreckage was at an end, "Let's beam it aboard the ship and get out of here!"  
"I don't think so," Valtaic said, carefully examining the data core, "It is very old, is somewhat damaged and is undoubtedly fragile. The temperature and pressure changes alone could destroy valuable data, not to mention the transport process itself,"  
"Ye mean Ah have to sit here while the two of ye tinker with this thing?"  
"No," Fifebee said, "it means you will follow my directions and assist Mr. Valtaic, as I cannot 'tinker' in my present state,"  
Valtaic was already carefully attaching leads from his tricorder to the shattered remains of the consoles.  
"The sooner we find something useful," Fifebee said, "the sooner we can leave,"  
"Note the key word," Valtaic said, "Useful. Unlike, say, that human instrument that sounds like feloid life-forms being horribly killed. What is it called? A pipe-bag?"  
"Bagpipes," Fifebee corrected.  
"Ah'm starting to not like ye," Jeffery remarked.

Dr. Wowryk was still sitting in Stafford's chair. In front of her, the main viewscreen was displaying the view directly ahead of Silverado. That is, a view of empty space, with a small sliver of Docking Station One visible in the lower corner. She didn't even have a planet to look at! She supposed she could adjust the external sensors to give her a better view, but she really didn't feel like walking over to Fifebee's science panel and making the adjustment. She wasn't even sure she knew how to make those adjustments.  
If she had gotten up, she might have noticed that both the science and tactical panels had flashing warnings on the long-range sensor displays.

Stafford was in hell.  
There was no other way to put it. Here he was, sitting at a restaurant with a beautiful (and powerful) woman. But was he here on a date with her? No, he was on a date with her fruit of a governor while his fruit of a first officer dated the woman Stafford wanted!

The Management would to apologize to anybody who might be offended by Captain Stafford's choice of words. Considering the circumstances, let's give the poor guy a break, shall we?

"So, what are Trill women like?" Anselia was asking, having already asked Jall about his home planet.  
"Oh, it depends," Jall said, taking a swing from his drink, "The joined ones can be pretty eccentric, but the un-joined ones can be a bit dull if you ask me,"  
"This whole 'joining' practice is amazing," Helith said to Stafford, "I can't imagine what it would be like to share my body with another sentient being!"  
"Please," Stafford swallowed, squirming so far away from the Matrian that he nearly fell off his seat, "Don't talk about sharing your body when I'm around,"  
"Isn't Sylvia always telling you to open your mind?" Jall asked.  
Stafford glared at him.  
"Excuse us," he said to Anselia and Helith, "We have to go, uh…"  
"Powder your noses?" Anselia suggested.  
"Sure, that," Stafford said, grabbing Jall by the arm and pulling the amused officer towards the men's room.  
Once they were in the relative privacy of the men's room (which, for some reason, did not contain any urinals, only stalls) Stafford whirled to face Jall.  
"This isn't funny!" he snapped.  
"Yes," Jall chuckled, "Oh, yes it is! Man, I couldn't have dreamed of a better way to get back at you! How does it feel, being in my shoes?"  
"It sucks!" Stafford snapped, "I'm interested in women! Especially that hot red-head sitting at our table! Now, I'm sorry that I offended you, and I'm sorry that you think I don't respect your…whatever it is. But I have a real chance to connect with that woman, and I need your help to make it happen!"  
"Let me think," Jall said, making a show of being deep in thought, "No,"  
"No?"  
"No!" Jall said firmly, "I don't think you want any kind of 'connection', aside from whatever's below her hips, and I sure has hell don't think you're actually sorry! I think you're just saying you are because you want me to help you. You want everything to be nice and friendly when it suits your needs, but the minute it doesn't, you could really care less about whether or not I feel respected!"  
"Y'know," Stafford said, "Has it occurred to you that people's problems with you have less to do with your sexuality than with the fact that you're an asshole?"  
"You know, somebody once said that there are two kinds of straight people," Jall snapped, "The kind that hate you behind your back, and the kind that hate you to your face,"  
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Stafford snapped, banging a fist against the counter and sending tiny bottles of sample cologne skittering to the floor, "You. Are. An. ASSHOLE! He said each word clearly, with careful emphasis, banging the counter again. "You missed Yanick's last birthday because you were too busy getting a 'sensual massage' and the last time a crewmember needed your help with a personal problem you said 'Suck it up, princess. Life blows, then you die and the worms eat you'! And don't even get me started on the way you and T'Parief treat each other!"  
Jall was quiet. The quiet was shattered when Stafford's comm-badge started beeping.  
"Wowryk to Stafford,"  
"Not now!" Stafford snapped, slapping his badge and closing the channel.  
He and Jall glared at each other angrily for a moment.  
"Now we're right back at square one," Stafford groaned, "And here I thought we were actually making progress!" He scowled, considering carefully.  
"Well, this dinner is blown," he concluded, "I'm going to go out there and tell Anselia the truth. Then we're going to go back to the ship, sleep it off and hope that things are looking better in the morning."  
"Fine," Jall said curtly.  
"Fine," Stafford nodded, stepping out of the restroom.  
"Fine!"

"And so the female said 'That is not my electrical receptor port', to which the male replied 'That is not my electrical discharge pylon, either'!" Valtaic promptly broke into chuckles.  
"Aye, that's an original one for ye," Jeffery groaned.  
"If you are finished with your pointless comedic routine," Fifebee said, "I need Mr. Valtaic to adjust the data defragmentation protocols to adapt to the differences in the data format,"  
`"Of course," Valtaic, said, still grinning.  
"Are we almost done?" Jeffery asked, "I promised Sylvia I'd re-align the starboard power transfer conduit today,"  
"I am attempting to upload the contents of this data core into the ship's computer," Fifebee replied, "There is a lot of data, and it is badly corrupted. I would prefer not so simply dump alien data into our computer, as we do not know what may be on that data core. Therefore, we must carefully analyze and select the information we wish to extract. This will take time, especially with all of the security and computer integrity precautions we must run,"  
"I am enjoying myself, actually," Valtiac said, "Have you heard the one about the Klingon, the Ferengi and the bottle of soya sauce?"  
"Ah'm REALLY starting not to like ye!" Jeffery muttered.

Wowryk was sprawled out in Stafford's chair when Yanick returned, head on one arm and legs hanging off the other. She'd dozed off nearly half an hour ago, the last time Fifebee had checked in. Somewhere a panel was beeping, demanding attention.  
"Uh, Noel?" Yanick said, timidly poking the doctor's arm, "You're not supposed to sleep when you have the conn!"  
Wowryk grunted, pushing Trish's arm away. Somewhere else on the bridge, another panel started beeping.  
"Noel!" Yanick said, more insistently, "Wake up!"  
"Turn off the alarm clocks!" Wowryk grumbled, finally coming around, "I don't have evening prayer for another 4 hours!"  
"It's not an alarm clock!' Yanick said, grabbing Wowryk by the arm and hauling her to her feet, "Come on, help me find out what's wrong!"  
"Fine, fine," Wowryk rubbed the sleep from her eyes and moved over to the Ops panel, "Uh, we were being hailed. But it looks like they left a message." She tapped a button and the screen flickered to life. A Matrian man was standing on the bridge of a ship, sparks flaring from a damaged console behind him.  
"This is the Matrian patrol ship Clamita to any vessels in Matrian Space! We've been attacked and disabled by several unknown ships! They're on a direct course for Matrian space! Stop them, for the love of the Mistress!" He turned, looking at something out of range of the camera, "No! Get away from me! NOOO!"  
The message cut out.  
"That came in a few minutes ago," Yanick said, looking over Wowryk's shoulder, "Uh, oh," Wowryk muttered, "That means that the beeping coming from the Tactical panel is probably-"  
Her words were cut off as a new transmission came in, this one overriding the control protocols and forcing its way onto the viewer.

All over the Matrian system, viewscreens blurred into static before displaying the same image. A rather plain looking being sat on a throne-like command chair, a purple cape draped over what looked like a grey and blue pinstriped suit. His hair was thinning, becoming slightly grey at the temples and his face was slightly lined, giving him the look of somebody settling comfortably into middle age. Attached to the side of his head was a strange contraption that looked to be half headset and half microphone, though most of the time, such equipment wasn't fused to the user's skull. He held a large padd in one hand, a writing sylus in the other.

"Greetings, citizens of the," he paused, consulting his PADD, "Matrian Republic. I am P'tareck, Chairman of the Qu'Eh! Congratulations!" he declared, in a slightly sibilant voice, "We're here to audit your society! Now, simply lower your shields, surrender your ships and we'll make this as painful, um, painless as possible. Your quality will be assessed and your useful assets will be merged with our own. Your synergy will sustain us."  
P'tareck leaned forward, an evil grin on his face.  
"Turning down this offer," he said darkly, "would not be good for business,"

"Uh-oh," Yanick said as the viewer went dark, "Uh, we should probably answer him, right?"  
"We should probably get Stafford up here," Wowryk said, tapping her comm-badge, "Wowryk to Stafford,"  
"Not now!" Stafford's voice snapped. There was a click as the channel went dead.  
"Ohhh!" Yanick groaned, "Noel! Do something! Hail them! Tell them they can't attack Matria, it's a Federation planet!"  
"I don't think-" Wowryk cut herself off. Like it or not, she was now the ranking Starfleet officer on scene. By the time they retrieved Jeffery, Stafford or anybody of higher rank, the Qu'Eh's would be close enough to Matria Prime to do whatever they wanted. She had to do something, now.  
"Open a channel," Wowryk said. She waiting for confirmation that it was open, then spoke:  
"This is Dr. Noel Wowryk commanding the Federation starship Silverado," she said, "You are trespassing in Federation space. Um, please leave now!"  
The screen flickered again as P'tareck re-appeared.  
"Dr. Wowryk," he said, "A pleasure to meet you! I understand you made quite the impression on people the last time you were here! I look forward to assessing your quality!"  
"Mr. P'tarek," Wowryk said, "The Matrian Republic has chosen to join the Federation. If you're interested in trade, peaceful relations and perhaps some information about the all-mighty God, we would be more than happy to sit down and have a little chat,"  
"Oh, sweety," P'tarek gave Wowryk a patronizing smile, "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Prepare to be monitored!"  
He vanished from the screen.  
"I'm not sure," Yanick said, "But I think they're arming weapons!"  
The ship shook hard, the lights flickering as power systems were disrupted.  
Yanick screamed like, well, like a girl while Wowryk was flung against a padded bulkhead.  
"Get the shields up!" Wowryk cried, jumping towards tactical, "Get somebody else up here, somebody who knows what they're doing!"  
The ship shook again, this time sparks showered down from a damaged conduit.  
"What is going on?" Sylvia declared, her holographic avatar materialized, a very pissed-off expression on her face, "We're under attack? Where is everybody?"  
"Sylvia!" Yanick cried, "We need your help! Raise shields! Fire weapons! Do something!"  
"I can't do that without authorization from the commanding officer," Sylvia said quickly, "Who's in command?"  
Yanick and Wowryk exchanged a look as the ship shook again.  
"She is!" Yanick said.  
"I am!" Wowryk snapped. She went back to tapping commands into the tactical panel, "OK, shields are up, but the docking arm is interfering with the starboard shields! Yanick, detach us! Sylvia, you're my first officer!"  
"Me? Sylvia was startled, "But I'm-"  
"Computer or not, you're actually on the ship, and at least know what we're supposed to be doing!" Wowryk said briskly, "Consider that an order!"  
Yanick started tapping at her panel while Sylvia promptly summoned more officers to the bridge. The communications channels, nearly silent up until then, had erupted into a mess of distress calls, status reports and overall panic.

Five ships had dropped out of warp in the general vicinity of Matria Prime. Each ship was classified as a light cruiser; smaller and faster than Silverado. The Qu'eh ships were a dull, drab olive green with the occasional splash of matte black. Each ship was strangely shaped, with a large lower section containing engines, crew quarters and cargo space. A broad upper section held shield generators and weapons platforms. Overall, the ship's looked like giant, flying clipboards.  
The three ships taking part in the attack against Docking Station One fired again, beams of purple destructive energy battering the decrepit station's weak shields. A stray beam impacted Silverado's shields, energy flashing as it was deflected back and forth between Silverado's shields and the station's. The other two ships, yet to meet with any resistance, started beaming troops down to the planet's surface.

Stafford and Jall had just returned to the table where Anselia and Helith were waiting.  
"Is there a problem?" Anselia asked, seeing the expression on Stafford's face.  
"Yes, your Majesty," Stafford said, "See, I haven't-"  
Stafford was cut off as both Anselia and Helith's communicator's started beeping urgently. Stafford's comm-badge beeped again.  
"What?" he snapped, crossing his arms as Anselia and Helith talked quietly with whomever had called them.  
"There you are!" Sylvia's very angry voice came through the comm, "Why weren't you answering before? We're under attack!"  
"Huh? What?"  
"Five ships entered the system, declared hostilities, are attacking the station and beaming troops down to the planet!"  
"Shit!" Stafford swore. Anselia and Helith were already being escorted out of the restaurant by a pair of Matrian security agents that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Another agent quietly urged him to follow. Stafford complied, grabbing Jall by the arm and dragging him along.  
"Can you beam us up? Stafford asked.  
"No, we've raised the shields!" Wowryk's voice came on, "Most of our senior staff is down on the planet!"  
"What about Fifebee, Jeffery and Valtaic?" Jall cut in, "Are they back yet?"  
"Shit!" Wowryk snapped, surprising both men with her use of the word, "I forgot about them!"

Deep in the chunk of space debris, Valtaic was tapping at the tricorder, looking annoyed.  
"I do not know what happened to this data core," he said crossly, "But I have never seen such badly fragmented data!"  
"Try to-" Fifebee was cut off as her hologram fizzled out, then slowly faded back into coherence.  
"What the hell was that?" Jeffery asked.  
"I am not-" this time Valtaic was cut off as the entire structure shook, support beams and twisted panels shrieking in the thin, un-breathable atmosphere.  
Jeffery and Valtaic exchanged glances.  
"That felt like a weapon impact," Jeffery said.  
Valtaic started tapping at his tricorder again.  
"I am picking up energy discharges outside the wreckage," he said, "They read like weapon's fire!"  
"Silverado to Jeffery," Sylvia's voice came through their suit radios, "I hate to worry you boys, but we're having a bit of a…no, Noel! That button controls the tractor beams, NOT the phasers! No, don't…you just dumped the waste extraction tanks! Dammit, where are those evening shift people?"  
"Sylvia?"  
"Simon, we're having a bit of a crisis here. We can't lower the shields to beam you aboard, and the chunk of debris you're in is dangerously close to the Qu'eh ships!"  
"The who?"  
"Just try to sit tight!" Sylvia cried, "No, Noel! Don't touch that!"  
The channel went dead.  
"Well, that settles it," Jeffery said, "We have to get out of here!"  
"Any bright ideas?" Fifebee asked.  
"Yup," Jeffery said. He grabbed Valtaic's tricorder and hit the 'Emergency Data Dump' button, "To hell with picking over what we need, we'll just dump the contents of this whole core to Silverado's computer and worry about dissecting it later! Fifebee, you switch over to Silverado's imaging system so ye can help out there. Valtaic and I are getting out of here!"  
"And where are we going?" Valtaic asked.  
The shattered room shook again, one end collapsing as the weakened supports gave way.  
"Out of here!" Jeffery cried.

"I am Jane 5-B, sentient hologram," Fifebee declared, materialized on the bridge, "What is happening?"  
The ship shook again as Qu'eh weapons impacted the shields.  
"We're being attacked!" Wowryk called out from the command chair, "Start scanning them, or whatever it is you do in a battle!"  
Fifebee looked around the bridge. Yanick was at the helm, taking the ship into evasive manoeuvres. Lieutenant Rengs was manning ops, Lt. Commander Stern had just taken over tactical and Lieutenant Day was at the engineering station. Fifebee was also surprised to see Sylvia sitting in Jall's chair, apparently acting as first officer.  
"Why are you in command?" Fifebee asked.  
"Because somebody left me the conn and everybody else is too busy to do it!" Wowryk snapped, "Now get to work!"  
A bit shocked at Wowryk's attitude, Fifebee quickly began scanning the Qu'eh ships.  
"Their ships are 215 meters in length, 100 in width," she reported, "They are using Class 4 shields; our weapons can penetrate them but it will take several hits. Weapons appear to be typical phased-energy beams and anti-matter torpedoes."  
The ship shook again.  
"Shields down to 30 percent!" Stern called.  
"Keep returning fire!" Sylvia called out, "Target their weapon systems!

As the three attacking ships finished their most recent attack run, Docking Station One finally opened fire, weak phaser beams shooting out and impacting Qu'eh shields. Silverado came around the bulk of the station, opening fire with her phaser cannon. The pulsed shots pounded against the lead ship, finally breaking through its shields and reducing its engines to rubble. Capacitor cells exhausted, the cannon promptly shut down and began its recharge cycle. The two ships that had been beaming troops down to the surface had evidently finished, as they were now joining the fight against Silverado and the battered old space station. Several stray shots impacted the massive chunk of space debris orbiting nearby. Jeffery and Valtaic hadn't been noticed yet by the Qu'eh, but even the accidental hits were coming close to shattering the entire wreck.

"Docking Station One has lost shields!" Fifebee reported, "They're taking serious damage!"  
"We've disabled another Qu'eh ship," Stern reported, "but the remaining three are still firing!"  
"Sylvia!" Wowryk hissed, "What do we do?"  
"Get them to evacuate!" Sylvia said, her neural circuits processing all the information around her at incredible speeds, "See if we can draw fire away from them!"  
"Oh! Oh!" Yanick called from the helm, "Launch the shuttles! We've done it before!"  
"Stern," Sylvia called, "Get some pilots down to the shuttlebay. They are to use the shuttles to draw fire away from the station!"  
Stern gave the orders. A few moments later, two runabouts and three Class-9 shuttles launched from the ship's two shuttlebays, firing their smaller weapons at the attacking ships. Silverado shook again, harder than before, as a torpedo slammed against the starboard hull. A second torpedo missed, impacting the nearby wreckage instead.  
"Shields are DOWN!" Stern cried, "The Niagra is trying to cover us, but the Qu'eh ships are moving in!"  
"The wreckage Mr. Jeffery and Mr. Valtaic are on is breaking up," Fifebee reported, "They will be horribly killed very shortly!"  
"Beam them over!" Wowryk ordered, "Our shields are down now anyway,"  
The Qu'eh ships fired again. This time Sylvia and Fifebee both fizzled as the power systems strugged to keep up.  
"We've lost replicators," Day reported, "Life support is failing on decks 30 to 36!"  
"Evacuate them!" Syvlia called.  
"The ships are firing on the station again!" Stern called.  
Everybody watched in horror as the Qu'eh fired another brace of torpedoes, this time targeting the old Matrian space station. The first blasted off one of the docking arms. The second shattered the transparent windows covering the commercial sector, sending atmosphere, tables, various trinkets and several doomed shopkeepers spiralling out into space. The third and forth impacted the main body of the station, shattering hull plates and ripping apart the underlying sections. The station started venting gasses and debris like a gutted animal spewing blood and entrails.  
"Their reactor is going critical!" Fifebee snapped.  
"Transporters!" Wowryk called, "Get as many…"  
The station detonated with a blinding flash, almost overriding the viewscreen's brightness filters. Silverdo shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm as the shockwave crashed against her unshielded hull.  
"We're being targeted again by the Qu'eh!" Stern called.  
Wowryk squeezed her eyes shut as Fifebee reported that over 300 Matrians had been on the station when it had exploded. Over 800 people were on Silverado, and Wowryk was pretty sure another wave of torpedoes would do to the ship what they had done to the station.  
"Signal the Qu'eh that we sur-"  
"More ships coming out of warp!" Stern replied, tapping at his panel, "They're Senousian!"  
"What?" Wowryk spun around, "Really? On screen!"  
Two Senousian battle cruisers dropped out of warm within spitting distance of Matria Prime. Sleek, bristling with weapons and looking more than a bit phallic, the two ships immediately opened fire on the Qu'eh ships. One manoeuvred between Silverado and the Qu'eh, clearly intending on shielding the Federation ship.  
"One of the Qu'eh ships has dropped its shields!" Fifebee reported, "It is retrieving their troops from the surface!"  
The remaining ships lashed out with all of their weaponry, battering the Senousian ships and keeping them too busy to attack the unshielded vessel. The instant they'd finished beaming up their people they pivoted together and fled into warp.

Captain's Log, Stardate 58836.4,

"So much for things going according to plan. Matrian Space has been invaded by an apparently hostile race known as the Qu'eh. We don't know who they are or what they want, other than the fact that they want to 'assess our quality', whatever the f**k that means! Docking Station One has been destroyed and Silverado took moderate damage in the fight. Moderate damage, huh? Luckily, the Senonusians responded quickly to the sudden flood of distress calls coming from Matria Prime! I'm glad to see that they've been able to build up a better defence force than the Matrians have over the past two years!"  
"The troops on the surface got into one heck of a scrap with the Matrian planetary security forces. It seems like they were trying to get into the Queen's private chambers. While I sympathize, it's probably a good thing that Queen Anselia was nowhere near there when they attacked. With Mr. T'Parief's assistance, along with that of the Hazardous Team, the attackers were contained until they were retrieved."  
"The space debris that may have held the key to Matria's past has been completely destroyed, although Jeffery, Valtaic and Fifebee were able to retrieve some data. Sylvia is trying to process the data now. Maybe the Old Matrian Empire has some information on who these Qu'eh are!"

"Your Majesty," Stafford said, bowing slightly as Queen Anselia was escorted into the conference lounge by her bodyguards. The rest of his officers rose to their feet in an atypical display of respect, "I'm very sorry about the loss of Docking Station One, and the Matrians who were killed,"  
"Blaming you will not bring my people back," Anselia said diplomatically, "But we are more concerned with the long-term implications of this attack."  
"We knew it was bound to happen," Stafford said, "Matria made her share of enemies over the past century,"  
"Yes," Anselia held out a data padd, "This is the information we have on the Qu'eh. According to my staff, it comes from sources that Lt. Commander Fifebee believes have been tampered with; however, it is a start,"  
Fifebee took the padd.  
"Encountered prior to the Gender Wars," Fifebee said, quickly analyzing the information and giving the key facts, "They were one of the Matrian Empire's major trading partners, up until trade broke down. Their culture appears to put a lot of emphasis on personal productivity for the betterment of their people's financial standing,"  
"Huh?" Yanick asked.  
"Ferengi communists," Fifebee said, "Sort of,"  
"Oookay," Jall said. His earlier argument with Stafford had been momentarily set aside, "What about their ships? Their technology? Anything that wouldn't be two centuries out of date?"  
"No," Fifebee replied immediately.  
"We cannot easily defend ourselves against another attack," Anselia said, "And we have lost our main space dock!"  
"We'll do better next time around," Yanick said hopefully.  
"We weren't exactly at our best today," Wowryk added darkly.  
Anselia looked questioningly at Stafford.  
"Uh, we had some personnel problems," he said quickly, "Jeffery, what's our status?"  
"Shields are back up," Jeffery said, "We have minor hull damage in several sections and replicators are still down. We're just restoring life support to decks 30 to 36 right now,"  
"Excellent," Stafford said, "You see, your Majesty, we'll defend this planet, or die trying,"  
"Please don't say that," Jall muttered.  
"We appreciate your efforts-"  
Anselia was cut off as the red alert sirens prompted sounded, red lights flashing.  
"Danger, one minute to warp core breach," Sylvia announced calmly, then, in a much sharper tone, "Jeffery, what the hell did you do?"  
"What?" Everybody in the room jumped to their feet and bolted towards the bridge, Jeffery slapping his comm-badge mid-step, "Jeffery to engineering! What's happenin' down there?"  
"I don't know, sir!" Frit Naketh's voice came back, "The warp core is destabilizing! The containment fields are failing and the reaction in the intermix chamber is approaching critical!"  
"Shut it down!" Stafford snapped. Jeffery was already at the engineering station on the bridge, tapping in commands.  
"The computer's refusing my shutdown commands!" Jeffery cried.  
"Sylvia!" Stafford shouted.  
"It's not me!" Sylvia shouted back, "There's something in the computer core! It's taken control of the warp core!"  
"Can you override it?"  
"I'm trying!" Sylvia's voice suddenly changed, becoming more mechanical as the audio warning subroutines kicked in, "Two minutes to warp core breach,"  
"Two?" Jall asked.  
"It's working," Jeffery said, watching his panel like a hawk, "She's beatin' it back!"  
"Three minutes to warp core breach,"  
"Come on, Sylvia!" Stafford urged, "Kick that thing's electronic butt!"  
Sylvia's holographic avatar started flickering as more and more of her resources were dedicated to the fight.  
"Shit," Jeffery swore, "It's using some kind of adaptive algorithm! It's rebuilding itself faster than she can pick it apart!"  
"One minute to warp core breach,"  
Sylvia's hologram vanished in a sudden shower of holographic sparks.  
"Sylvia!" Yanick cried.  
"30 seconds to warp core breach," announced the old, nearly forgotten voice of a standard Starfleet computer core, speaking without a trace of Sylvia's more vibrant tones.  
"The core is going critical!" Jeffery snapped, "And Sylvia's…Sylvia's…offline?"  
"Eject the core!" Stafford ordered.

"Eject the core!" Frit Naketh ordered, passing the order to her brother, Frat.  
"I can't reach!" Frat cried, jumping up and trying to get his hands on the control panel. The stools they usually used too help them reach the consoles had been thrown around in the attack. Frit and Frek rushed around, frantically trying to find something to stand on. Finally, Frat simply jumped up on Frek's shoulders, located the needed control and slammed his hand down.  
On Silverado's belly, at the very bottom of the engineering section, a series of hull panels quickly retracted. A series of explosive bolts fired and Silverado's warp core, over 10 decks of swirling, focused energy, shot out like a spitball from a straw. Seconds later, it detonated in a staggering release of energy.

Stafford slowly picked himself up, rubbing his neck. The jolt from the warp core explosion had shaken the ship hard, sending everybody to the deck. Queen Anselia was standing next to the turbolift, supported by her bodyguards and looking dazed. The red alert klaxon was still sounding, and a torrent of damage reports, injury reports and shouts of 'What the f**k was that?' was flooding the comm channels.  
"Report!" Stafford barked.  
"Warp core is gone," Jeffery said, almost groaning, "We're running on auxiliary power only! There's structural damage on the lower decks and the shields are down again!"  
"What about that computer…thing?" Stafford asked.  
Jeffery tapped at his panel.  
"Gone," Jeffery said. Fifebee quickly started analyzing the information he had collected.  
"It appears to have been a virus," she reported, "An extremely sophisticated one, designed to take control of engineering systems and cause a reactor overload. It is beyond the Matrian's current level of technology,"  
"Then we have found the cause of the orbital habitat's destruction," Valtaic said.  
"Ah'd say so," Jeffery said.  
"Sylvia?" Stafford said, "Are you OK?"  
No answer.  
He and Jeffery exchanged worried glances.  
"Sylvia?!"  
Silence.  
"Oh," Jall said, "We are SO f**ked!"

Captain's Log, Supplemental:

This time I completely agree with Mr. Jall. We are f**ked. Completely, totally and utterly f**ked. Some kind of computer virus infected our systems and caused our warp core to overload. We've ejected the core, but now we're under threat of attack, far from Starfleet and without the means to defend ourselves!"  
"Oh, we are so, so f**ked.

It had been barely an hour since the warp core explosion. Repair teams were climbing frantically over the ship, fixing what could be fixed quickly and making note of what would take more time. Science teams were digging apart Silverado's computer core and the data uploaded from the Matrian habitat, determined to ensure that another attack program wasn't lurking, waiting for the chance to do something else really miserable, like shutting down life-support.  
Stafford entered Computer Core Control to find Wowryk and Jeffery standing over Sylvia's storage module. The neutronium-armored casing had been carefully removed to expose the neural gel-pack and isolinear processing circuits that made up the core of Sylvia's personality.  
"Injuries in Sickbay are under control," Wowryk said, looking up briefly, "Just bumps, bruises and contusions. One broken ankle,"  
"Thanks, doc," Stafford said. He looked down into the open module, "Have you found anything?  
"There's nothin' wrong with the electronic parts," Jeffery said, "The isolinear processors and neural interface circuits are workin' just like they're supposed to. But the gel-pack isn't respondin',"  
"She's in a coma," Wowryk said, tapping her tricorder and frowning.  
"A coma?"  
"Some of these readings are similar to what you would see in a brain-scan of a coma patient," Wowryk replied, turning her tricorder so Stafford could see an incomprehensible jumble of data, "She must have suffered some kind of mental trauma when she was trying to delete the virus,"  
"Will she wake up? I mean, reactivate?" Stafford demanded.  
"I don't know," Wowryk said, "I'll need to run more tests,"  
"It's my fault," Jeffery said grimly, "Ah shouldn't have uploaded that data! If Ah'd followed the right procedures, this wouldn't have happened!"  
"Your orders were to get that data," Stafford told him, "You followed orders. I just hope there's something in there that makes this worth it!"  
"Aye," Jeffery said glumly.  
"I want you to get in contact with Starfleet," Stafford said, "We need a replacement core; we can't even use warp drive without one!"  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "And Ah'll get in touch with the Matrians and the Senousians. Maybe one of them can fabricate somethin' we can use in the meantime."  
"I think they've got enough problems on their hands already," Stafford said, "But it can't hurt to ask."  
Jeffery left. Stafford looked uncomfortably at Wowryk for several moments.  
"It wasn't your fault either," he finally blurted out.  
Wowryk looked taken aback.  
"I didn't say it was," she replied.  
"But I bet you were thinking it," Stafford said.  
Wowryk crossed her arms.  
"I shouldn't have been in command," she said, "I didn't know what I was doing. If I'd been faster, if somebody else had been on the bridge, we might have saved the station, and all those people," she swallowed, "I was giving the orders, and they all died,"  
"We might have saved them," Stafford said, "But it was the Qu''eh that killed them, not you. We can't spend the time now second-guessing ourselves. We're in deep shit, and we need to focus on how to get this situation under control!"  
"Yes," Wowryk said. She looked down at the module containing Sylvia. She carefully lifted the module.  
"I'll be in Sickbay," she said, "Don't worry, Chris. I'll find a way to bring her back,"

Jall was in Impulse Engineering when Stafford found him.  
"Mr. Jall," Stafford said carefully, "What's up?"  
"We're running diagnostics on the impulse reactors Jall said, using the same careful tone, "We're going to need as much power as these things can produce until we get a new warp core,"  
"Good thinking," Stafford said.  
"Have you talked to Jeffery and Wowryk yet?"  
"Why would I do that?" Stafford said neutrally.  
"It was Jeffery's screw-up that put that virus in our systems," Jall said flatly, "And according to the bridge logs, Wowryk was sleeping when the first distress call came through."  
"You noticed that, did you?"  
"Hell yes, I noticed that!"  
"Jeffery did what he had to do to complete his mission," Stafford said, "If he hadn't uploaded that data, we would have lost it completely!"  
"There have to be other ways to get the information the Matrians want," Jall said, "And even if there aren't, how can it possibly have been worth it?"  
"Hopefully, Fifebee will find something in there that we can use," Stafford said, "And I've already talked to both Wowryk and Jeffery,"  
"And?"  
"And," Stafford sighed wearily, "I think we're going to have problems with those two. Wowryk completely blew it, and you know it's not easy for somebody to get over something like that."  
"I guess that means you don't have time for problems with me?"  
Stafford looked at his first officer.  
"You're right," he said bluntly.  
"Fine," Jall said, "Just remember, this isn't over between us,"  
"Fine," Stafford said.  
"I will say this," Jall said, "At least you're learning. A year ago, you probably wouldn't have given the situations with Wowryk and Jeffery a second thought.  
"Maybe, maybe not," Stafford said, "But one thing is for sure: We're all going to need to learn if we plan on making this mission a successful one,"

End.

Next: Well, now that all hell's broke loose, it's about time to sit back and have a Martini, right? Well, OK, maybe not. But with the new Qu'Eh threat hanging over them, Stafford and Anselia decide it's time to foster some goodwill between Matria and the Federation. Get your mind out of the gutter and check out Silverado 4.10 – 'Good Sportsmanship', coming your way next.


	10. Good Sportsmanship

Star Traks: Silverado

4.10 "Good Sportsmanship,"

Ensign Trish was flat on her back.  
"Push it a bit harder," she said, "No, that's not right. A bit more to the left. Up…no, down. Oh, just let me plug the damned thing in already!"  
She grabbed the isolinear processing module that Lieutenant Sage had been trying to attach to the innards of the helm console and plugged it into the receptor port. The console lit up and an unidentifiable tune played.  
"Welcome to LCARS 4.0 MT!" the computer voice announced happily, "Would you like to use this console separately, or connect to a central computer core?"  
"Computer core, ODN connection," Sage ordered, "Network identification is USS Silverado,"  
"This console has detected that the indicated computer core contains bio-neural circuitry. To get the best performance out of your helm console, upgrade to LCARS Expanse, the newest version of LCARS! In addition, a new bio-neural processing module will increase the response time of your helm console!"  
Sage punched a few buttons, disabling the 'helpful, user-friendly' mode and reconnecting the console the ship's computer.  
"Helm control has been restored," Sage reported.  
"And I helped!" Yanick added, climbing to her feet.  
"Great," Jall said, sitting in the command chair and sipping a low-fat, high-protein shake, "Got any fresh warp cores in your pocket while you're at it?"  
"Lt Cmdr Jeffery is still talking to the Matrians and Senousians about adapting one of their cores until Starfleet can send us a new one," Sage said, "But then the Matrian engineer and the Senousian design manager got into an argument over who thought Jeffery was cuter,"  
"The women in this sector have no taste in men," Jall complained.  
"If you had the quadrant's lowest male population, you'd be getting desperate too," Yanick pointed out.  
Jall just rolled his eyes.  
"OK, c'mon now, people!" he said, giving Sage and Yanick a sassy look, "Please try to remember we're still recovering from a major crisis!"  
"We are Starfleet," T'Parief grumbled from the tactical console, "It is what we do,"  
"But we don't always have to like it," Yanick said, dropping into her seat and pouting.

Stafford was sitting in Sickbay. Next to him, Dr. Wowryk and Chief Engineer Jeffery were examining the module that contained Sylvia's core gel-pack. He watched as Jeffery used a specially designed key, an actual metal key of all things, to unlock the neutronium casing he'd designed as a way of protecting Sylvia from hostiles.  
"Initiating scan," Wowryk said crisply.  
Stafford paid her no attention, instead staring into the module, at the blue gel-pack that contained Sylvia's brain tissue.  
"Hard to believe one of these things could become self-aware," Jeffery mused, "and that a computer program could become so important to us,"  
"She's much more than a computer program," Wowryk said sharply.  
"Aye," Jeffery swallowed, "Aye, of course."  
"Neurotransmitter levels don't match her previous readings," Wowryk went on, "Neural activity is depressed, but I'm not showing any sign of cell damage,"  
"The bio-neural interface is stable and functioning normally," Jeffery said, delicately probing the interior of the module, "The processing cores and data chips are fine! All the isolinear circuitry is workin' exactly the way it's supposed to,"  
"Aye," Wowryk said. She shook her head, "I mean, yes." She put her medical tricorder down, exasperated, "Captain…Chris. I'm not an expert on this bio-neural stuff. All I can tell you is that the readings for the neural tissue have changed, but I'm really not sure I know how to fix that!" She frowned, "There is something almost familiar about these readings. I cannot think of what that might be, though,"  
"The hardware's fine," Jeffery said.  
Stafford still didn't speak. He just sat there, staring.  
"We'll keep trying though," Jeffery said, "It just might take a while."  
Still nothing.  
"Ah better go see if anything in the computer core can tell me anything," Jeffery muttered, turning to leave.  
"I have research I must attend to," Wowryk said, "Fifebee has downloaded a number of studies on bio-neural tissues from Memory Alpha,"  
They both left, leaving Stafford alone in the ICU. He stared down at the open module for several moments.  
"Get well, Sylvia," he said softly, turning to leave.

"We want our express our thanks and gratitude," Queen Anselia, leader of the Matrian Republic said, her lovely visage displayed at twice actual size on the bridge viewscreen, "for your help in defending our planet from the Qu'Eh attack,"  
"You're welcome," Jall said, having risen out of the command chair to receive Anselia's comm, "That's why we're here, after all. Adding to the positive karma of the galaxy and all that noble stuff."  
"We're recalling our fleet," Anselia informed him, "We'll have scouts patrolling our borders, but we're keeping anything bigger closer to Matria Prime,"  
"Probably a good idea," Jall shrugged.  
"Is Captain Stafford available?" Anselia asked, "We are most interested in speaking to him about our strategic and defense plans,"  
"Er," Jall shrugged, "One of our crewmembers was badly injured in the attack. The Captain's been down in Sickbay, offering his, uh, support,"  
"Admirable," the Queen mused, "And he's ever so lucky to have a handsome, outstanding man like yourself to help in out during these difficult times,"  
"Something like that," Jall sighed as Anselia gave him a suggestive look.  
"Perhaps there's something we can do to cheer him up?" Anselia went on, "Tell us, is Captain Stafford fond of athletics?"  
Jall was taken aback.  
"I, um, I don't know," he admitted.  
"Well, we assume that at least some of your crewmembers enjoy a bit of athletic competition," Anselia said, "We understand your people are probably quite shaken up over current events, as are ours. We're sending our Minister of Athletics to your ship to discuss a proposition he may find…interesting."

A few hours later…

"The Matrians want to hold a Sport's Competition," Stafford said. His senior staff was gathered in the conference room, but the air was grim.  
"Are they daft!?" Jeffery demanded, "We haven't even finished repairing our battle damage, and we don't have a bleedin' warp core!"  
"Yes, Captain, the timing is very poor," Valtaic said, "We are in the middle of a crisis,"  
"I think it's a good idea," Jall said. He didn't look at Stafford; instead he sat facing the rest of the staff, his arms crossed. Evidently, he was still angry at the captain.  
"Oh really?" Wowryk raised an eyebrow.  
"Yeah," Jall said, "I mean, I know we're still recovering from the attack, but we have to remember that we have more to worry about than just ourselves now. It's pretty dark times for the Matrians, right? They need something to pick up their spirit. And since they're having issues getting accurate information on how to play any of their own sports, it makes sense for them to get us involved,"  
"Do you play anything, Mr. Jall?" Stafford asked tiredly.  
"Wrestling," Jall replied.  
"He meant outside the bedroom," Yanick said.  
Stafford rolled his eyes in disgust.  
"Yes, I know that!" Jall said, leaning back in his chair, "Seriously. I was on the Academy wrestling team."  
"Before this conversation gets any more disturbing," Stafford said, "Let me say that I think it's a great idea,"  
Jall looked surprised.  
"Really?" he asked, "But this is a fun…thing. And you're not usually into fun…things…even when you're in a good mood,"  
"I'm in a shitty mood," Stafford said flatly, "We've been attacked, the ship is dead in the water, Sylvia's badly hurt and the Matrians have a new set of hostile neighbors."  
"Admirable honesty, sir," Valtaic said, inclining his head.  
"Admirably depressing is more like it," Yanick said.  
"Their Minister of Athletics-"  
"How can they have a Minster of Athletics if they don't remember how to play any of their own games?" Wowryk interrupted. She had been down and quiet since the incident with the Qu'Eh. Stafford was glad to see that she was starting to show some interest.  
"Their Minister of Athletics," Stafford said again, rolling his eyes, "has been studying our athletics database. Apparently," he looked warily at Wowryk, "she hasn't had much else to do with her time. She and I have agreed on three sports: hockey, basketball and soccer."  
There was immediate ruckus around the conference table.  
"Curling? Why not? It's fun!"  
"-don't know why something wholesome like-"  
"-wrestling? But…spandex-"  
"-are we going to wear for uniforms?"  
"Settle down, settle down!" Stafford called out. Gradually, the din subsided.  
"Well, Ah take it we need to select teams?" Jeffery asked, "Ah'll take basketball."  
"You're too short for basketball," Jall said, waving a hand.  
"Bite me, ye cocky oaf!"  
Stafford slapped a hand over Jall's mouth.  
"Just…don't…" he said, "I'm not in the mood for an argument,"  
"I will take the hockey team," T'Parief grumbled.  
"I didn't know you played hockey," Yanick commented.  
"I do not," T'Parief replied, "However, you have made me sit through many hockey games since the ship's team started playing, and I believe I understand the rules well enough,"  
"Oh yeah. The Silverado Salvagers,"  
"They need to work on the name," Stafford muttered.  
"I'll take the soccer team," Wowryk said firmly.  
Everybody stared at her.  
"WHAT?"  
"I was on the Catholic Girl's Soccer team when I was younger," Wowryk sniffed.  
"Ooookay," Stafford said. The energy in the room was already improving; even Stafford was feeling a bit better, "As for Ensign Yanick, I have a special job for you. In fact, I think Mr. Jall may want to help you out…"

Word of the games spread quickly around the ship. There were to be three games: a soccer game, a basketball game and a hockey game. There were no prizes, no incentives, and no real benefits to winning. Instead, the point was to lift the spirits of the Matrian people by giving them something they hadn't had in centuries: televised sports. All teams would be co-ed, in keeping with the spirit of the new Matrian Republic. Governess Gelitha, the Matrian Minister of Athletics, had been hoping for such an event for some time now and the Matrian teams were raring to go. Her only concern was that all three games were Earth games. They neither represented the diversity of the Federation, nor Matrian culture. But, it was a start.  
Now, Silverado just had to try to pull their teams together.

"This is so exciting!" Yanick squealed.  
"Uh-huh," Jall muttered. The two of them were heading down to the Replicator Center to pick up their uniforms and equipment.  
"Oh, come on, what's bothering you?" Yanick asked, grabbing Jall by the arm and laying her head on his shoulder.  
"Well," Jall shrugged, "I just…why would Stafford think I'd want to help you with something like this?"  
"Are you saying you don't?"  
"No, no," Jall said quickly, "I do. He was dead on the mark. I just want to know when the hell he got so…so…perceptive,"  
"Oh, come on, Jall," Yanick rolled her eyes, "he was just following an old stereotype. It just so happens that in your case, the stereotype is right,"  
"Yeah, yeah," Jall sighed, "OK, who else are we going to get to help with this little project we've been given?"  
"Lt. Fifebee already agreed to help," Yanick said, "I thought we'd ask Nurse Kerry, Madame Schoonbaert, Lieutenant Day, and maybe Lieutenant Commander Ovens."  
"Oh, don't forget Crewman Ellis." Jall said.  
The two of them continued walking, details and plans forming in both their heads.

Stafford was seated in his private dining room, Governess Gelitha seated across the table from him. He had to admit, the Matrian was attractive. She had hair that was so black it almost looked blue, though not as blue as Nurse Kerry's. Her body was athletic, though not as athletic as Ensign Bith's. Her face was finely featured with beautiful, porcelain skin. Although, he mused, not as beautiful as Queen Anselia's.  
"I need more women in my life," Stafford realized, muttering to himself.  
"Are there not enough women on Matria Prime?" Gelitha asked, having overheard him.  
"What? Oh! I'm sorry," Stafford said, "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that…well…"  
Gelitha was staring at him.  
"What I meant," Stafford said, "Is that…" he trailed off again. Why was he talking to her about this? On the other hand, why was she paying such rapt attention?  
"Look, I don't know how it is on your ships," he said, "Or other ships, for that matter. But I'm picky about who I get romantically involved with. And I think it's a bad idea for a captain to get involved with a woman under his command,"  
"Ahhh," Gelitha nodded, "I understand. I have no idea if Matrian captains did the same, since we haven't had a co-ed ship in centuries. But I do understand. I would find dating a member of my staff very awkward,"  
"Exactly," Stafford said, "So, you see, I'm sort of limited to women from off the ship. And that sort of makes relationships difficult,"  
"Romantic relationships, yes," Gelitha said, a mischievous look in her eyes, "I know men are heavy on romance, and monogamy, and celibacy,"  
"On your planet, maybe," Stafford grunted.  
"Not on yours?"  
"Well, our women usually force us into those kinds of things,"  
"Interesting," Gelitha said, "But the unattached men on your planet would welcome a bit of no-strings-attached…fun?"  
"Most of them, yes," Stafford said, suddenly hoping this conversation was going where he wanted it to.  
"So," Gelitha said, setting down her padd, "Would you like to go for a long, romantic dinner, perhaps watch a movie, spend some time getting to know each other?"  
"That could be good," Stafford nodded.  
"Or," Gelitha continued, "Would you like to get naked and have crazy sex on top of this table, right now?"  
Stafford stared at her for a moment.  
"Is this a trick question?"

Lieutenant Pye and Lieutenant Sage were walking past the doors to the Captain's Dining room.  
"Do you hear shouting?" Sage asked.  
"Nope, I don't hear anything," Pye replied.  
"Huh. So, are you trying out for basketball, soccer or hockey?"  
"Soccer," Pye said, "I don't like the cold, and I'm too short for basketball. You?"  
"Hockey. I look better with a mask on,"  
As the two officers stepped into the turbolift, an access hatch popped open. Lab Technician 1st Class Trent Smedi peeked out into the corridor, checking to be sure the coast was clear before heaving his bulky midsection through the one-size-too-small hatch. One section of his mind quickly counted the number of doors visible in the short, U-shaped corridor and calculated the space taken by the shuttlebay to the aft and the Captain's Dining Room to the fore. The remaining space was junior officer's quarters, and Deck 3 was a pretty small deck. Still, Smedi's calculations revealed that even the lowly ensigns living on Deck 3 were given more living space and better views than the hard-working crewmen below decks. If his lab team partner, Jemi H'Kspeda, had been present, she would have pointed out that many of Silverado's officers lived in windowless quarters deep in the saucer section. She would have also pointed out that on Klingon, Romulan or Andorian ships, non-commissioned members would have even less space, sometimes sleeping in racks in maintenance corridors. Smedi, of course, would counter that this was Starfleet, and that they should know better. Finally, H'Kspeda would give one of her sighs that was a special blend of defeat, annoyance and 'oh, just f**k it!'.  
Still watching carefully to be sure he wasn't seen, Smedi withdrew a gleaming bottle. A tag was attached to the neck, to which the words 'To Captain Stafford' had been written. Outwardly, it appeared to be a perfectly ordinary bottle of white wine. It would take a thorough analysis to discover that Smedi had added a little something extra to the mix.  
Smedi had grown tired of waiting for Stafford to do something stupid enough to warrant the attention of Ms. Lydia Thompson of Starfleet's Office of Humanoid Resources. It was time for him to take action!

Yanick stepped off the turbolift onto Deck 3. She could have sworn she saw a flurry of motion out of the corner of her eye, but when she took a closer look, there was nothing but a bottle of wine sitting on the deck.  
"Pixies and fairies!" she giggled, picking it up. She was walking up to the double doors to the Captain's Dining Room when they hissed open, revealing a very lovely Matrian woman.  
"Oh, hello," Yanick said cheerfully, "May I help you?"  
"No, thank you," Gelitha said, smiling, "I have been 'helped' enough for now. I have preparations to see to for Sports Competition,"  
"Sure," Yanick said, "Oh, did you finish with Captain Stafford, then?"  
"Yes, he finished," Gelitha said walking off, "Several times,"  
Yanick walked in to find Stafford slumped in one of the chairs. His hair was a mess, his face was red and sweat was drying on his forehead.  
"I've been waiting for you to finish with her for the past two hours!" Yanick complained, setting the wine down on the table, "How long does it take to plan a few games?"  
"Uh, it's surprisingly complex," Stafford gulped, "You have to plan for referees, and refreshments, and-'  
"Wait," Yanick held up one hand, sniffing around, "Something's…different…in here,"  
"Uh, no?" Stafford tried.  
Yanick walked carefully around the room, sniffing the air.  
"It's almost like sweat," she mused, "with just a touch of…" she trailed off, then spun around to look at Stafford.  
"You had sex with her!" she snapped.  
"Uh," Stafford cringed, "Um,"  
Yanick continued sniffing.  
"Three times?" she exclaimed, "And in the reverse lay-up position?"  
"Well, actually, it was three and a half…hey, how could you possible know that?" Stafford demanded, sitting up in his seat.  
"It's a gift, sweetie," Yanick giggled, "Oh, Chris! It's about time! You've needed to get laid for a while now!"  
"Was it that obvious?"  
"Oh," Yanick made a show of thinking, then turned back to Stafford again, "Only to anybody with eyes,"  
"Look, Trish," Stafford said, "I know it's frowned on professionally-"  
"No it isn't," Yanick interrupted.  
"-and I know it was a bad idea-"  
"No it wasn't,"  
"-and I know I shouldn't have done it-"  
"Yes, you should have,"  
"-and I swear I'm not going to do it again-"  
"Yes, you are,"  
"Are you even listening to me?" Stafford asked.  
"Yup," Yanick said, "You're doing that thing you do, where you try to hold yourself to a higher standard than everybody else. You've convinced yourself that if you don't be a complete slave to some imaginary morals that everybody is going to look down on you,"  
"But-"  
"So here's what you're going to actually do," Yanick said, "You're going to go back to your quarters and have a drink, and think about how lucky you are that an attractive woman showed interest in you. Then you're going to add it to that stupid little 'banging female chicks' captain-quota thingy. And then, the next time a pretty girl propositions you, you're going to invade her star system like it's nobody's business and you're not going to beat yourself up over it the next day!"  
Stafford stared at Yanick.  
"Where the hell did that come from?" he demanded.  
"Commander Jall, actually," Yanick admitted, "I just replaced 'boy' with 'girl' and-"  
"Stop," Stafford help up a hand, "I liked the speech. Please don't ruin it,"  
"Well then." Yanick nodded, "Good. Oh, by the way, somebody sent you wine,"  
"Huh," Stafford stared at the bottle for a moment, "What do you know? I wonder who it's from?"  
"C'mon, Captain," Yanick giggled, pulling on his arm, "You have an event to plan!"

"And thank you for tuning in to Matrian Sports Chat on MESS, the Matrian Entertainment and Sports Station! This week, which by the way is the only week we're going to be on the air until somebody remembers the rules to Grensball, we bring you the Matrian Republic's first co-ed sporting extravaganza!" on the screen behind him, images of the Silverado crew alternated with images of fit Matrian athletes, "We'll be bringing you every moment of every game, right here on MESS…"  
Stafford swallowed. He and Governess Gelitha were seated behind another desk facing an as-yet inactive camera. In mere moments, the camera would activate and the two of them would be broadcast across the entire planet.  
"You don't really need me for this, do you?" he asked nervously, "I mean, you probably know as much about these sports as I do by now, and you're the fellow Matrian that everybody here is going to want to see,"  
"Hardly, Captain," Gelitha giggled, "I'm just another politician, spending my boring days in the Council Building. You're the brave, handsome alien captain that changed the course of our civilization,"  
"That was a Senousian, actually," Stafford gulped, "Hey, did you say handsome?"  
"We're on in 30 seconds," the cameraman said.  
"I don't wanna do this!" Stafford said suddenly, "I don't like talking to crowds of people I don't know!"  
"20 seconds,"  
"You'll be fine," Gelitha said, "You were fine last night,"  
"But-"  
"And ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…" the cameraman counted down.  
"And joining us today," the announcer was saying, "We have Governess Gelitha, Minister of Athletics and the woman responsible for this event. With her is Captain Christopher Stafford of the Starfleet vessel Silverado. Whether you hate them or love them, they're the folks that single-handedly brought our civilization back into the light of day!"  
"Actually, that was a Senousian-" Stafford started, but was quickly cut off.  
"Welcome to Matrian Sports Chat," Gelitha said, smiling broadly at the camera, "I'm really excited about this event; I think everybody will really enjoy the show we have in store. It's been centuries, after all, since we've done something like this! Captain, your thoughts?"  
Stafford stared at the camera for a moment.  
"Meep?" he squeaked. He cleared his throat, "Ahem. Uh, yes. I'm very, um, pleased that this event will give our peoples the chance to build some bonds of common, um, friendship,"  
"And with Matria Prime's application for Federation membership all but complete, this is only the first in what we hope will be many exchanges, competitions and other events that will help bring Matria Prime closer into the Federation," Gelitha continued, "And I promise you girls," she gave Stafford an impish look, "some of them are worth getting close to,"  
"Meep!" Stafford squeaked again.  
"So, join us this evening as the Silverado Salvagers go head to head with the Matrian Maulers in the first ever Matrian vs. Federation soccer match!"  
The recording light went dim.  
"See? I was awful," Stafford exclaimed.  
"You sat there and looked pretty," Gelitha said dismissively, "That's the kind of thing our viewers expect a man to do. See you at the field!"

Smedi made his way into Unbalanced Equations, looking just a bit like a fox sneaking into the henhouse. Technically speaking, Unbalanced Equations was the officer's lounge, and non-commissioned officers like Smedi belonged in The RoughHouse or one of the smaller lounges. In reality, neither Stafford nor Steven particularly cared where crewmembers went on their off-time. Perhaps if Smedi had actually bothered to do something other than sit in his quarters and play Galaxy of Starcraft he might have known that.  
He snuck towards the back corner, trying to stay out of the light. The lounge was fairly empty; those crewmembers that could be spared from the repair efforts had beamed down to watch the game. Smedi looked around carefully, trying to find somebody close enough to the captain to tell him what he wanted to know.  
Finally, he approached Lieutenant Kennerdy.  
"Hello, Lieutenant," Smedi said politely, "And how are you today?"  
"Uh, fine," Kennerdy replied, looking a bit wary, "Hey, aren't you that scientist that turned us all into gunk a few months ago?"  
"A minor matter, truly," Smedi waved a hand, "Listen, Lieutenant, I was wondering if you'd noticed anything…unusual about Captain Stafford lately,"  
"Let me think," Kennerdy rolled his eyes, "Nope."  
"Really?"  
"Really. Oh, uh, I think I hear my mom calling," Kennerdy quickly turned and walked away.  
"Blast!" Smedi cursed, "I suppose I'll just have to be more subtle!"

Down on Matria Prime, the games were about to begin. A large stadium in Matronus that, according to the city plans, used to be used for a sport called Methics had been pressed into service as a soccer field. Methics was almost a sport on Matria Prime. In several cases, not only involving the athletics world, the problem wasn't so much that the Matrians had forgotten information, it was that there were so many arguments between Matrians who 'remembered' that nobody could agree as to what the information truly was. In any event, dozens of Silverado crewmembers and several thousand Matrians had packed the stadium. Vendors were selling various snack foods of Matrian and Federation origin and at least one fight had broken out between two burly, beer-swilling Matrian women. In the VIP box, Stafford sat next to Gelitha. Queen Anselia and King Hektor were sitting in plush thrones behind them, surrounded by several members of the Council of Governors. Stafford couldn't help but notice that there were a number of extremely attractive Matrian women in the crowd. Far more than he might have expected, actually.  
"I'm eager to try this beverage you brought for us," Gelitha said, hefting the wine bottle Stafford had brought down from Silverado, "It looks interesting."  
"Hmmm?" Stafford pulled his eyes away, "Oh, right. Beer is the traditional sports watcher's drink, but somebody's been leaving gift bottles around the ship. Give it here, I'll pour,"  
As he served the wine, careful not to spill any of the scarlet red liquid on his white dress uniform, the crowd started to cheer as a pair of double doors at the far end of the stadium opened.  
"Here we go!" Gelitha said excitedly.  
"Here goes our dignity," Stafford sighed.

"Here goes our dignity," Jall said happily as he followed Yanick out into the stadium.  
In two's, over a dozen Silverado crew members including Jall, Yanick, Fifebee, Kerry, Madame Schoonbaert, Day and Ovens ran through the double doors and onto the green. The men wore silvery-grey shorts along with blue and grey muscle shirts, the girls wore silvery-grey mini-skirts and blue tank tops. Each had a stylized 'S' on the back and a grinning cartoon pirate squeezing a cartoon starship in one hand on the front. They ran to the center field, forming two lines.  
"Ready?" Yanick asked. In the VIP box, Jall could see Stafford covering his eyes.  
"HIT IT!" she shouted, brandishing her glowing blue pom-poms in the air as the music started to play.

We're cool! We're hot!  
We'll give it our best shot!  
We're killin', we're sweet,  
Just watch us mix this beat!

As they sang, the men moved to the back as the women danced in the front, brandishing their pom-poms and shaking their behinds like it was nobody else's business. Even Fifebee had loaded a cheerleading program into her database and was managing to keep up.

I'm Yanick! I'm pretty!  
I'd love a fluffy kitty!  
I'm Jall! I'm bad!  
My moves are totally rad!  
I'm Fifebee! I kick it!  
Holography will hit it!  
We cheer, and we dance!  
Just come give us a chance!

"This 'cheerleading' is a very interesting tradition from your world," Anselia said to Stafford from her throne. She appeared to be captivated by Jall's gyrating hips.  
"Interesting is one way of putting it," Stafford said, trying not to wince as Fifebee did splits that would have probably killed a living human, "It depends on the male to female ratio of the cheerleaders,"  
"I like the dark-skinned one," Gelitha said, watching as Day flipped Yanick over his head, "Is he single?"  
"Day?" Stafford shrugged, "Yeah, but he's a Deltan. Sex with them turns the average humanoid's brain into a lump of mushy putty,"  
"Hmmm…but what a way to go," Gelitha mused.  
Stafford was confused. He and Gelitha had gotten it on a few times in the dining room, but now she was checking out other guys? Did that mean that he wasn't any good? That she wasn't interested? Was it possible that she had only wanted to have some fun with him before moving on?  
No way. No way could he possibly be that lucky.  
Yanick and the rest of the Silverado cheerleaders were just wrapping up their opening routine, as evidenced by Yanick and Fifebee being hoisted onto Jall and Ovens' shoulders. As they cheered and ran for the sidelines, the actual teams started running into the stadium. Dr. Wowryk led the Silverado Salvagers soccer team, wearing blue and grey uniforms similar to those worn by Yanick and her cheerleading squad. Lieutenant Marsden, Lieutenant Pye, Crewman Roscoe, Nurse Veeneman, Samantha from the lounge staff and several other crewmembers following her. The Matrians were being led by a male who was very tall by Matrian standards (average male height for humans) and consisted of a mix of muscled, athletic women and wirier but still fit Matrian men wearing red and white uniforms. Stafford especially felt his gaze drawn to one woman in particular, a particularly curvaceous blond. Evidently, Gelitha noticed his unblinking stare, or possibly the drool forming around his mouth.  
"That is Bethini," she said to him, "She's been doing a lot of research into our past recreational activities. She believes she may have discovered a sort of 'pleasure guide', once used by Matrian couples."  
"Like the Karma Sutra," Stafford murmured.  
"I wouldn't know about that," Gelitha shrugged, "But, if you like, I would be happy to arrange an introduction,"  
"Really?" Stafford squeaked.

Further back in the stands, T'Parief watched as Yanick danced and cavorted on the field. He took a long sip of the Andorian beer he'd brought down from the ship, watching with amusement as a spilled drop started burning through the floor. He was still trying to get the taste of that God-awful Terran wine Yanick had poured with dinner out of his mouth. Perhaps some of the pickled Targ's feet he'd brought down with him would do the trick!  
As he bent to fish the desired snack out of his pack, he again saw Yanick dancing. His eyes were suddenly drawn to her lithe, slender limbs and to the swaying motion of her breasts as she spun around. Captivated, he didn't even notice the scent that came over him…a scent that a human would recognize as fresh rain, with just a touch of honeysuckle.

The game started off poorly for both sides. Wowryk was running up for the kick, but managed to slip and fall on her ass. The bright side was that she did manage to hit the ball on her way down, sending it bouncing off the head of one of one of the Matrian players, sending the man stumbling to the side. The play might have been recovered, if only Veeneman and Samantha hadn't collided with each other in a mad rush for the ball. Bethini, the Matrian player, managed to get control of the ball and rushed down the field, deftly evading the Salvagers as they tried to steal the ball from her. She fired a shot at Crewman Trac, the ship's Velvattian botanist. Trac deftly spread out its tentacles to cover the net, easily blocking the shot.  
"That creature will be a tough goalie to beat!" Anselia commented with excitement.  
Indeed, as the game progressed, the Matrians found that scoring on Trac was very difficult, but still possible. Their most successful ploy involved distracting it with a shiny mirror and two Matrian men performing an interpretive dance explaining the history of the Port-a-Potty while Bithini snuck up from the opposite direction. By the time the game hit half-time, the score was tied.  
Stafford was escorted to the bench as Wowryk went into her half-time speech and Yanick led her squad out for a disturbing rendition of 'I'm Too Sexy'. He tried to pay attention to Wowryk, he really did. But his gaze kept flickering over to the Matrian Mauler's bench. Bethini had just poured half a pitcher of water over her head, leaving her uniform top hugging in all the right areas.  
As Wowryk continued blabbering on about how they had to believe, truly believe that they would win, Stafford found himself walking over.  
"Hey," he said to her, "Great game. You play very well,"  
"You think so?" she asked, "How sweet,"  
"Gelitha speaks highly of you," he went on, "I can see it's well earned,"  
"OK, you've gotta stop the cheesey lines, bud," Bethini said, "If you wanna get it on, just say so,"  
"Um," Stafford swallowed, "So?"

"And we're ready to start the second half of the game!" the announcer called out, "We've got a tie game, with 4 points each to the Silverado Salvagers and the Matrian Maulers! We'll just get both teams in place for…oh…it looks like the Maulers are missing a player!"  
There was a commotion under one set of bleachers, then Bethini and Stafford ran out, Bethini heading for the field and Stafford heading for the VIP box.  
"Christopher Rico Stafford!" Wowryk snapped as Stafford ran by, "That is SO TOTALLY a sin!"  
Yanick's cheerleading squad, on the other hand, started making lewd gestures and chanting 'Do it like they do on the Discovery Channel'.

"Very nice, Captain," Gelitha said as Stafford returned, panting, to his seat.  
"I don't know what's gotten into me," he said, "I wouldn't normally…you know…"  
"Have fun?" Gelitha laughed.  
"I did," Stafford admitted. They sat and watched the remainder of the game, wincing as a collision between Day and a Matrian female resulted in both being taken out of the game on stretchers, then cheering as Dr. Wowryk whipped out a protoplaster and healed both in minutes.  
The game was close, but the victory went to the home team by one point. The Matrians managed to distract Trac with an impressive display of back-flips while Bethini kicked the ball through the narrow space between two of Trac's tentacles. Dr. Wowryk indulged in a rare fit of profanity while Yanick and her squad gave a grudging congratulatory chant for the winners.  
Stafford suddenly noticed a pretty young brunette in the stands.  
"Excuse me," he said, getting up.  
Further back in the bleachers, Smedi watched, an evil grin forming.

"Stafford to Silverado, one to beam up please,"  
"Do you wish for me to arrange an honorable death during transport?" Ensign Pysternzyks asked, tapping his comm-badge.  
"No, thank you. Although at this point I could probably die happy," came the reply.  
"Humans," Pysterzyks grunted in disgust, running his hands over the transporter controls. With the standard blue shimmer and whine, Stafford materialized on the pad. His hair was tousled, his uniform was askew and he was red in the face.  
"The rest of the soccer team beamed up from the post-game party two hours ago," Pysternzyks commented, "What took you so long?"  
"None of your business," Stafford said curtly, exiting into the corridor. It was ship's night, but several crewmembers were still roaming the corridors. Most of them were night shift personnel, continuing the repairs to the ship. The major repairs had been completed, with the exception of the warp core, which of course couldn't be easily replaced. Reaching his quarters, Stafford quickly pulled up the sensor logs for the evening. He knew he would have been commed if anything major had happened, but for some reason he wanted to check for himself. Nothing. Nothing from the ship's sensors, nothing from the probes they'd sent out, no reports from Matrian scout ships, nothing.  
There was, however, another bottle of wine on his table.  
"More white wine?" Stafford mused, eyeing the bottle, "It's nice that somebody on the crew cares, I guess,"  
Shrugging, he went to bed.

"And welcome back to Matrian Sports Chat on MESS, the Matrian Entertainment and Sports Station!" Newscaster Felitsa said, smiling into the camera, her dazzling white teeth almost blinding Stafford, along with sending several Matrians into epileptic seizures, "We have with us again the Matrian Minister of Athletics, Governess Gelitha, and Captain Christopher Stafford of the United Federation of Planet! Last night's game between the Silverado Salvagers and the Matrian Maulers was a screamer, the first co-ed sports game in remembered Matrian history! Coach Wowryk led her team to a gracious defeat, with Coach Hurn and the Maulers coming out victorious! Let's take some comms! On line one, we have Ursule from Jentar District. Ursule, you're on!"  
"Hi Felitsa! I love your show!" an image of a plump, motherly Matrian woman appeared on the screen, "I have a question for Captain Stafford,"  
"Sure," Stafford said, smiling nervously at the camera.  
"Does your…what do you call it…'cheerleading squad' do private performances?"  
Stafford blinked.  
"Um, I don't know," he said slowly, "But knowing Yanick and Jall, probably,"  
"Oh good." Ursule smiled, "That tall skinny boy of yours is just TOO delicious! I've never seen a man who can move like that!"  
"Oy vay," Stafford sighed, letting his head fall to the desk.  
"I agree," Gelitha smiled, "With Ursule, anyway. Thank you for your call! It's so good to see that last night's game is doing so much to help us get to know our new allies,"  
"Bye!" Ursule waved.  
"And next we have Kreth from K'Tari District on line two," Felitsa said.  
"Hi Kreth," Stafford said, raising his head back up, "What's up?"  
"You are SUCH a tramp!" Kreth said, "Everybody at the game saw you and Bethini come out from under the bleachers! It's sluts like you that give us guys such a bad reputation! Honestly, sleeping around with any woman that comes your way!"  
"Huh-wha?" Stafford said.  
Gelitha smiled weakly at the camera.  
"Just a bit of cultural misunderstanding folks," she said, "In Terran culture, things are a bit different. But thank you for your call,"  
"I'm not finished-" Kreth started, before he was cut off.  
"And next," Felitsa cut in, "We have Derethi from J'Taeri District on line one,"  
"Good morning, Derethi," Gelitha said warmly.  
"I have another question for Mr. Stafford," Derethi said, her rather average visage appearing on the screen, "How do you feel, now that you've lost the first game?"  
This, at least, was a question Stafford had prepared for.  
"Well, it always sucks to lose," he said, "But somebody had to, right? I think the more important thing is that everybody had a good time."  
"Well said," Gelitha nodded, "Get used to saying that, because you know the Maulers are going to clean the floor with your basketball team tonight,"  
"Oh, we'll see about that!" Stafford laughed.

For the basketball game, a different setup had proven necessary. This time, a huge indoor arena on the outskirts of Matronus had been pressed into service. The city plans listed the arena as being primarily used for Yorgenball. Yorgenball had evidently been a very popular Matrian sport back in the day, and only minor arguments still prevented it from being played professionally.  
Down in the locker rooms, Stafford, Valtaic and Jeffery, along with the rest of Silverado's basketball team, were stripping out of their Starfleet uniforms and getting into their sports gear.  
"What Ah don't get," Jeffery was saying, "Is how we can have 3 teams of different people, all with the same name!"  
"It's because they're representing the same ship," Stafford said, "It's just less confusing this way,"  
"Sez you,"  
"Do not let such minor matters distract you from the enjoyment of the game," Valtaic said curtly, "Try instead to simply enjoy the exercise,"  
"I was a surprised when you signed up for the basketball team," Stafford said to Valtaic, "I thought you'd consider our sports to be nothing but 'silly human nonsense',"  
"Of course not," Valtaic said. Some might have found their exchange to be snide, bordering on rude, but it was simply the way Valtaic's people did things, "Remaining fit is essential. But although I enjoy Terran basketball, it cannot compare to a good game of Felsbee,"  
"You'll have to teach us that one," Jeffery said.  
"Unlikely," Vatlaic said coolly, no doubt annoyed by Jeffery's obvious attempt to be polite, "as the sport involves using our bodily energy fields to manipulate the flight of an object best described to you as a Frisbee,"  
"That would be a problem," Jeffery muttered.  
"I see everybody's getting ready?" Jall said pleasantly, walking into the men's change room,"  
"Hey!" Stafford yelped, grabbing a pair of shorts and holding them strategically over his genitals, "Get out of here!"  
"Oh please," Jall rolled his eyes, "It's nothing I haven't seen before!"  
"Yeah, Yanick said the same thing," Jeffery said, quickly pulling his shirt on, "But we still didn't let her in here!" Behind him, Dar'ugal and Shwaluk snickered.  
"Believe me," Jall said snidely, "seeing you naked brings absolutely no pleasure to my life,"  
"Hey!" Jeffery straightened up, looking insulted, "We're sexy!" he turned to Stafford, "Aren't we?"  
"Once again, you are dwelling on matters that are completely irrelevant," Valtaic said crossly, "Whether or not the homosexual finds us attractive is of no consequence, unless of course you are trying to impress him,"  
"Jall, why are you here?" Stafford asked tiredly.  
"Oh, right," Jall sighed, "I'm supposed to tell Jeffery that the coaches are supposed to meet with the referee in five minutes,"  
"Thanks. Now scram,"  
"Y'know," Jeffery said as Jall left and Stafford resumed changing, "usually the coach doesn't actually play in the game,"  
"Well, technically you're more of a team captain," Stafford said, "But I wanted to be the only captain on the field,"  
"Ego-trip," Jeffery muttered.  
"Well," Valtaic said, clapping his hands over his chest in an expression of readiness, "Let us begin!"

"Those," Stafford muttered to Jeffery, "Are big women,"  
"Aye," Jeffery gulped, staring at the female members of the co-ed Matrian basketball team. Each one was well over six and a half feet tall. "Are ye as turned on as I am?"  
"I refuse to answer that question, on the grounds that I'm too busy staring at that redhead," Stafford replied.  
Yanick's cheerleading squad was again warming up the crowd, singing some ridiculous song about how this was 'The Final Countdown'. The Matrian women watching in the stands hooted and hollered, cheering on Lieutenant Day as he danced forward, let by Yanick and Kerry. He started going into a Deltan fertility dance and though the genuine dance was performed nude, Day at least limited himself to stripping off his shirt, much to the enjoyment of the Matrian women. The Matrian men appeared to be at least moderately entertained by the female dancers, though they were considerably less demonstrative in their enthusiasm.  
"This is a really weird planet," Crewman Gibson observed, sitting next to Counselor Yvonnokoff. (Much to her irritation.)  
"Jas, is vunderful," Yvonnokoff said, tapping frantically on her padd, "I vill get paper, maybe two out of zis mixed-up culture!"  
"Uh, right," Gibson twisted from side to side, trying to see past T'Parief's bulk as the huge officer sat stone-still in front of the short, slightly chubby crewman, his eyes again locked on Yanick.

The basketball game went almost the same as the soccer game. The Matrians, though playing an alien sport, were in somewhat better shape than the Salvagers, most of whom had just started seriously practicing a few days previously. Dar'ugal was playing the center forward position, and seemed to have a knack for keeping control of the ball. (His 7-foot height was a big help, too.) Stafford and Shwaluk stayed back on defense until Shwaluk tried to intercept a pass between two of the Matrian players. He somehow managed to trip over his own feet, stumbling several steps before crashing into one of the Matrians. The Matrian pushed him away roughly, sending him bouncing off of Dar'ugal. Shwaluk tried to get his footing by grabbing the Barudan officer's thick, red fur, resulting in a scream of pain and a reflexive elbow jab from Dar'ugal. The end result was Shwaluk lying on the arena floor covered with tufts of red hair, blood pouring from his nose and an obviously broken leg. As the unlucky crewman was carried away, Stafford jumped as he felt a hand on his buttocks.  
"Meet me after the game," the Matrian woman breathed.

Watching from the crowd, Smedi grinned.  
"This is working perfectly!" he murmured to himself. After the butt-grope that had been seen across the planet, it was obvious that Stafford and the Matrian woman could barely keep their eyes off of each other, to the point where Jeffery benched Stafford in favor of Lieutenant Burke. (The Matrian player had also been benched, but Smedi didn't really care about that.) It hadn't even been ten minute before the Matrian woman whispered something in her coach's ear, and then walked back towards the locker rooms. Stafford followed less than 30 seconds later, not even bothering to tell Jeffery where he was going.  
"Perfectly," Smedi said again, his grin taking on a slightly evil aspect, "Tomorrow, it all comes to a head!"  
His plotting was interrupted when a scaled elbow slammed into the back of his head. Behind him and to one side T'Parief had been joined by Yanick and the two of them were making out frantically.  
"Get a room!" Smedi hissed, rubbing the back of his head.

The game was over; the Salvagers had pulled off a narrow victory, thanks mostly to Dar'ugal's excellent ball handing and ability to dunk. The spectators had dispersed to their various entertainments, while the two teams had been escorted to one of Matronus's more exclusive night spots.  
"You know, this whole sports celebrity thing has its advantages," Jall said as he snagged a complimentary beverage off a passing tray.  
"We were already celebrities on this planet," Fifebee pointed out. Somebody had planted a disco-ball on top of her holo-relay and made the thing part of the lighting system.  
"Yeah, but sports celebrities are cooler than 'we blew up your ships and changed the course of your civilization' celebrities.  
"Don't let it go to your head," Dr. Wowryk advised, sipping a glass of mineral water, "This whole thing is gluttonous and sinful,"  
"Sort of like our fearless leader this week," Jall observed, watching as Stafford emerged from a back room with yet another Matrian woman, "This is just years of sexual repression being purged,"  
"He's being a perverted man, as usual," Wowryk said darkly, "The only difference is that he's actually succeeding this time instead of merely trying and failing," she frowned, "Or talking about trying, but never actually trying,"

"You know," Stafford said, grabbing a Matrian beer and wincing at the wine-cooler-like taste, "Maybe this mission won't be so bad after all. You know, aside from the whole 'we got attacked and lost our warp core' thing,"  
"Yer not mad that I benched ye in the game, are ye?" Jeffery asked.  
"Nope. I had better things to do,"  
"About that," Jeffery said, "What's gotten into ye? Ye've spent the past three years getting' less female tail than Jall, now ye're suddenly…suddenly…"  
"On a lucky streak?" Stafford supplied.  
"Aye! It's…bizarre! Ye've never been such a…such a…"  
"Stud? Player?"  
"I was gonna say slut, but aye, those too,"  
"You've been hanging around Dr. Wowryk too long," Stafford observed.  
"Heh. With the number of Matrian STD's ye've probably picked up, ye'll be seein' a lot more of her, too,"  
Stafford rolled his eyes.  
"Come on, Jeffery!" he said, "I'm doing what a good starship captain is supposed to do, aren't I? I've got to keep my quota up! Spread the love!"  
"Aye," Jeffery shrugged, "It's just…not ye,"  
"Well, sometimes you have to do things a bit differently," Stafford said defensively, "You're only young once!"  
"Aye, Ah suppose," Jefferey said. He noticed Wowryk a short distance away, talking amicably with one of the wimpy Matrian men, "Ah guess everybody needs a little companionship now and then,"  
He turned back, but Stafford had gone chasing after yet another Matrian woman.  
Suddenly on his own, Jeffery sighed. The party had suddenly lost all appeal. Better he should find something useful to do. He'd beam up to the ship and spend a few hours trying to figure out what happened to Sylvia. Yeah. That would be a much better use of his time.  
Suddenly galvanized by the thought, he called for beam-up.

Stafford sat back in the VIP box, surrounded by Matrian Governors and Governesses, waiting for the final game, the hockey game, to begin. He'd let T'Parief handle the MESS interview, since he was the hockey coach after all. (Lieutenant Commander Stern, the ship's actual hockey coach, was annoyed to no end at being temporarily demoted to assistant.) Things were tied: the Matrians had won at soccer, Silverado had won at basketball. Officially, he didn't care who came out on top, but unofficially he hoped to see some Matrian ass kicked. And best of all, since the game took place on a sheet of ice instead of a grassy field or hardwood court, he wouldn't have to watch Yanick lead Jall in another round of ridiculous cheerleading!  
Stafford's hopes were quickly dashed as Yanick and her squad skated onto the ice and promptly went into a simple but entertaining figure-skating routine, choreographed to 'We're Not Going to Take it!'. The women were wearing blue tutus over silvery leotard; the men were wearing silvery tights.  
"That'll teach me to doubt her," he sighed to himself. Fine. Whatever. As much as he enjoyed seeing Nurse Veeneman in a sexy miniskirt, checking out Fifebee would be weird, and checking out Yanick would just be dangerous. Plus, the concept of Jall or Day wearing tights was enough to bring his lunch back up for a second appearance. OK. So he'd just take the opportunity to check out some of the Matrian women in the crowd. Maybe he could work a bit more magic…  
Finally, the figure-skating was over and the game begun. The puck was dropped, and the Matrians immediately seized control, scoring a goal against the Salvagers in less than 30 seconds. T'Parief countered by snatching the puck at the next drop and passing it up to Stern, who managed to slip it neatly into the Matrian net. The game continued at a fast pace, the puck and players moving swiftly from one side of the ice to the other. What T'Parief lacked in skating abilities, he made up for in his ability to squash any opponent who got in his way. Stern proved quite adept at puck handling, and Sage was proving an adequate goalie.  
In the end though, it was a Matrian victory in the last 30 seconds of overtime.  
"Well," Stafford grunted as the players lined up to shake hands, "That's that. Now where did that blond run off to?"  
There was a sudden flurry around the VIP box as a horde of reporters and cameramen suddenly swarmed it.  
"Captain Stafford! What's your response to the charges?"  
"Could this mean the end of Federation-Matrian relations?"  
"How does it feel to be a lying scum-bag?"  
"What the…" Stafford looked around frantically, seeing nothing but flashing lights. The nearby spectators were staring and Queen Anselia was rising to her feet, looking just as surprised as everybody else.  
"Captain Stafford, if you'll come with us…" there was suddenly two burly Matrian security guards and an officer from Matrian Planetary Defense standing right in front of him.  
"What's going on?" he demanded.  
"You're under arrest for the use of illegal substances," the officer informed him, pulling his hands behind his back.  
"On whose authority?" Queen Anselia demanded, "How dare you! This man is a visiting dignitary!"  
"Your Majesty, we received an anonymous tip that this man has been using wine drugged with Senousian pheromones to seduce women," the officer explained, "We need to take him in for questioning and drug testing."  
"Wine," Stafford murmured. Then, louder, "Wait. Do your test right here, right now. If I'm dirty, I'll go with you."  
The detective and officers exchanged glances.  
"Sir, this could be very embarrassing, given the public nature of-"  
"I think the USS Embarrassment has gone to warp," Stafford snapped. He could see Wowryk, Jeffery and Jall working their way towards him through the crowd.  
The Matrians were looking confused.  
"I'm already embarrassed," Stafford explained, "Just do your tests!" Next to him, Anselia nodded her approval.

"Excellent, excellent," Smedi grinned, staring through a set of electro-binoculars as the officers started to cuff Stafford. "Ms. Thompson is going to love this news report!"  
He watched as Stafford started arguing with the guards. To Smedi's surprise, they stopped trying to cuff him. Instead, it looked like…like…was that a drug testing kit they were bringing out?  
"Oh, perfect!" he giggled. In his head, the headlines had just changed from 'Starfleet Officer Arrested on Suspicion of Drug Use' to 'Starfleet Officer Tests Positive for Illegal Drugs at Sporting Event'.  
Wowryk, Jeffery and Jall had just arrived on the scene and were watching as a Matrian medic was brought forward to administer the test.  
"What the…"

"So terribly sorry for the misunderstanding," the Matrian police officers were saying, "We, um, obviously received some bad intelligence in this matter,"  
"Get out of here!" Anselia said angrily, "We will be talking to the Commissioner tomorrow morning! Captain Stafford, We are so very sorry!"  
"I don't think it was your officer's fault," Stafford said, pulling Jeffery, Wowryk and Jall to the side, "I think somebody tried to sabotage me!"  
Across the stadium, Smedi cursed.

The four officers were scanning the arena, surrounded by Matrian security guards as they pushed their way through the crowds.  
"If I may, Captain," Wowryk was saying, "I'm trilled that your descent into sinful gluttony doesn't include the use of mind-altering drugs,"  
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Jeffery wondered.  
"Is the glass half full or half empty?" Wowryk shot back.  
"Come on, you two,"  
"What's the rush?" Jeffery asked, "Yer clean, right?"  
"I'm clean," Stafford said, "But look, somebody's been leaving me bottles of white wine since this whole sporting thing started! Then I get accused of using drugged wine to seduce Senousian women? Sounds a bit fishy to me! Somebody planted that drugged wine on me!"  
"It does," Wowryk agreed, "But, if you tested negative, no harm done, right?"  
"How did ye manage that anyway?" Jeffery asked.  
"I hate white wine!" Stafford said, "Can't stand it!"  
"So what did ye do with it?"  
"I replicated myself a nice Cabernet Merlot and gave the white crap to…" Stafford trailed off.  
"Uh-oh,"

"I had no idea doing it a locker room could be so hot!" Yanick giggled.  
"For sure," T'Parief replied, leaning up against the wall as he inhaled a Matrian cigarette. He was still wearing most of his hockey equipment, and the gloves especially had proven useful in shielding Yanick from his claws.  
"Y'know, I don't know what's come over us," Yanick sighed, lying her head against his chest, "I mean, you were so…hesitant…"  
"I do not know what came over me either," T'Parief replied, looking down at Yanick and cradling her against his side, "But I liked it."  
"Yeah," Trish sighed. She took another long pull from the latest wine bottle Stafford had given her. She and T'Parief had saved this one until after the game, but it was already close to empty.  
As she drank, T'Parief was suddenly overcome with the scene of fresh rain and honeysuckle. He had no idea what Yanick was putting in her hair lately, but it was turning him on something fierce!  
The wine bottle went spinning away, forgotten, as T'Parief began kissing Yanick passionately.

Captain's Personal Log:

"Well, the Sports Competition was a rousing success. We've managed to build some new ties between the Federation and the Matrian people, nobody was hurt, and I got more action than a Risan on Friday night."  
"Commander T'Parief and Lieutenant Commander Fifebee have attempted to trace the drugged wine to its source, but have come up dry. Unfortunately, I have no idea if the attempt to get me arrested was an attempt by a Matrian faction to disrupt the membership negotiations or a prank by a member of my crew that just went to far.  
"As for Lieutenant Yanick…"

"I just don't know what got into us," Yanick said. She and Stafford were seated in Unbalanced Equations, "I mean, we've been kinda…hesitant to…y'know,"  
"Do it?" Stafford suggested.  
"Well, yeah. I mean, Pari was kinda worried that his claws or fangs would be a problem." Yanick scratched her head, "Actually, I was pretty worried about that too. But it turns out that if you just wrap him up in hockey gear, it's a all good!"  
"I see," Stafford swallowed, "Look, Yanick, there's something-"  
"And what about you?" Yanick asked, giving him a conspiring look, "You've certainly been a bad boy lately!"  
Stafford grunted.  
"Yeah. But you know, I think I'm going to have to cut that out. I had to get that out of my system, but y'know, I've got a reputation to build on this planet, and I don't think sleeping with every Matrian woman I meet is going to help," he sighed, "Besides, I think I need a rest from all that 'fun',"  
"Ohh, now you're back to your boring old self again!" Yanick pouted.  
"What can I say?" Stafford grinned, "I like me!" He became serious again, "But Trish, there's something-"  
"Captain!" Fifebee shouted, running into the room, "Come quickly! One of the scientists has engineered a mutant platypus, and it is running amok!"  
"What the…" Stafford jumped to his feet, "Stay here, Trish,"  
He followed Fifebee into the corridor, then nearly fell over when she stopped suddenly.  
"Where's the-"  
"There is no platypus," Fifebee informed him, "However, I believe you were about to inform Lieutenant Yanick that the new level reached in her relationship with Commander T'Parief is due to the effects of drugged wine,"  
"Yeah, but-"  
"I suggest you do not," Fifebee said.  
"Why?"  
"Sylvia and I had observed that the two of them were having serious relationship problems in regards to their sex life," Fifebee explained, matter-of-fact, "I believe that if they realize that they were drugged it would be destructive to their relationship,"  
"As opposed to them building their relationship with a lie?"  
"I believe that now that they are 'over the hump', so to speak-"  
"Oh, geez, you had to say it like that!"  
"-that their relationship can now flourish rather than stagnate." Fifebee continued, "Indeed, Lieutenant Yanick has already begun replicated rugby equipment for Commander T'Parief,"  
"Right, fine," Stafford said. "I won't tell her,"  
"Then I bid you a good evening," Fifebee nodded and turned to leave.  
"Hey, Fifebee?" Stafford called.  
"Yes?"  
"What's with the sudden non-gossip interest in their relationship?" he asked, "And how did you even know what Yanick and I were talking about?"  
"Hmm," Fifebee thought for a moment, "I do not know,"  
"Ah well," Stafford shrugged, "See you later."  
"See you later, dear," Fifebee said.

Earth:

"Starfleet Officer Falsely Accused in Matrian Police Mix-Up" Lydia Thompson read. She did not look amused, "Nothing else came in on the Matrian feed today?"  
"Just the hockey scores," her secretary replied.  
"Hmmm," Thompson mused. She'd received a message from Smedi, her relatively new, somewhat bumbling operative on Silverado, telling her to watch today's Matrian headlines closely. The office of Ambassador Ovens had been feeding Matrian news broadcasts back to Starfleet Command ever since the subspace relay had gone online, and so far as she could tell, there was nothing in today's transmission that could be useful.  
"Incoming transmission for you, Ma'am," her secretary called, "It's coming in from the Matrian sector relay,"  
"Put it though,"  
The screen flickered for a moment, then Trent Smedi appeared on the screen.  
"Is this what I am supposed to be impressed about?" she demanded before Smedi could even speak, holding up the padd with the Matrian new report, "I believe you were supposed to sabotage Stafford, not make him into an innocent victim!"  
"I don't understand what happened!" Smedi objected, "My plan was flawless!"  
"Obviously not," Thompson snapped, "Mr. Smedi, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this relationship is no longer profitable,"  
"Wait, I can-"  
"Humanoid Resources thanks you for your efforts," Thompson said, her voice chilling, "I remind you, Humanoid Resources cannot be held responsible for damages incurred while attempting plots, schemes or other diabolical efforts,"  
"But-"  
"Good day,"  
Cutting the channel, Thompson leaned back in her chair.  
"Sometimes you have to know when to call it quits," she mused. She though back to her time aboard Silverado, and how Stafford had had the nerve to not only refuse a direct instruction from Humanoid Resouces, but to actually throw her off the ship.  
"And sometimes, you just have to know when to take half-time,"

End.

Next: Well, now that the nice little break is over, it's time to get some work done. But as Stafford and Wowryk take a nose-dive in Matrian politics they find that one of their discoveries about Matria Prime's past is about to bite them right in the tender spots.


	11. Presently Tense

Star Traks: Silverado

4.11 "Presently Tense"

"I don't think this is going to work,"  
"Have some faith in me, man!"  
"I don't know you well enough to have in faith in you. But I definitely know enough about what you're doing to believe that this is not going to work,"  
"Hasn't everybody ever told yer species that honesty is overrated?"  
"No,"  
Lt. Commander Jeffery, Lt. Commander Valtaic and Commander Jall were in Main Engineering, standing around the open space that used to hold Silverado's warp core. Main Engineering, as the central control center for the core, had housed the matter-antimatter reaction chamber in which the huge amounts of energy needed for faster-than-light travel were produced. However, the warp core itself had stretched several decks in both directions; up to the matter injectors and the deuterium storage tanks above and down to the antimatter injectors and antimatter storage pods below. The design also allowed the core to be ejected out the bottom of the ship in the event of a catastrophe.  
Silverado had suffered a catastrophe. Now there was nothing but an open shaft reaching the entire height of the engineering hull. Looking down, Valtaic could see the closed ejection hatch several decks below. Along the sides of the shaft, each deck had railings designed to prevent hapless crewmen from taking a long, long tumble. Snaking up one side of the shaft was a pair of conduits, looking more than slightly jury rigged. Valtaic returned his attention to the device Jeffery was working on. The device was bolted to the deck to one side of the core shaft, with a central sphere connected to two cylinders. An identical device was bolted to the deck on the opposite side of the shaft.  
"There is no possible way we can power the warp drive with these puny things," Valtaic said.  
"Aye, ye told me that," Jeffery said, attaching another conduit to the device, "But as Ah told ye, we're not trying to! The Senousians don't have a warp core powerful enough to drive this ship, neither do the Matrians. And by the time the Senousians built us one, we could have Starfleet deliver one to our doorstep!"  
The devices in main engineering were in fact the warp cores from a pair of small Matrian patrol ships, barely larger than runabouts. Jeffery and Valtaic had spent several days running fuel conduits into main engineering; magnetic conduits for the antimatter supply and standard conduits for the deuterium supply. Ignoring the two large power-transfer conduits that had linked Silverado's old warp core to the Electro-Plasma System taps and warp nacelles, Jeffery was connecting the Matrian cores directly to the EPS taps. As Valtaic had said, there was no way the tiny cores could hope to power Silverado's warp drive. But even a small antimatter reactor produced much more power than Silverado's impulse reactors, which relied on fusion to function. Considering the power requirements of the ship's weapons and shields and the fact that the Qu'eh could drop in at any time, it had been decided 'better this than nothing'.  
In other words, Silverado was getting a bit desperate.  
"How's it going, gents?" Stafford asked, walking into main engineering.  
"We're almost ready for the test," Jall said, not turning to face Stafford.  
"Aye," Jeffery confirmed, "And Ah'm very sure this won't blow us up. Y'know, unlike the last thing Ah tried,"  
"Give it a rest, Simon," Stafford said, "It's not your fault,"  
"And blaming yourself to gain attention will only annoy us," Valtaic added.  
Stafford shot him a dirty look.  
"Oh, yes," Valtaic muttered to himself, his energy field flaring slightly with annoyance, "Humans are emotionally fragile,"  
"Stop doing that," Jall said, "It makes my hair stand up! Do you KNOW how hard it is do this 'doo'?" He gestured at his hair, which had been carefully styled into a spiked, 'bed-head' look.  
"I don't see a difference," Valtaic said, this time deliberately pulsing his field, causing everybody's hair to stand up and salute.  
"Stop it," Stafford ordered, "Both of you. Jeffery, can we try this thing out?"  
"Just about," Jeffery said, "Ah gotta connect the output still. Unless ye want the room to be flooded with high-energy plasma?"

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Crewman Roscoe asked.  
"Nope," Crewman Gibson said, "But it's going to be fun!"  
"If you're so excited about it, why am I going first?" Crewman Shwaluk asked.  
Roscoe and Gibson exchanged glances. Bosco, Roscoe's monkey, chattered from his perch on Roscoe's shoulder. It was a well known fact that if something was going to go wrong, it would go wrong to Shwaluk. Better him than the two of them, they figured. "OK," Gibson said, taking another drag off the doobie the three of them were sharing and getting into position behind Shwaluk, "You're all tied off. Ready?"  
"No," Shwaluk whimpered.  
"Set?" Roscoe asked, joining Gibson.  
"NO!"  
"GO!"  
They pushed.

"OK," Jeffery said, tapping a control panel, "That should just about do it."  
Valtaic and Jall exchanged a glance, then quickly moved out of the core area and behind the curved transparent aluminum window separating the core area from the rest of main engineering.  
"We're just going to monitor from back here," Jall said, "In case we need to quickly adjust Silverado's systems,"  
"And because we fear for our safety," Valtaic added.  
Stafford looked from Valtaic and Jall, safe behind the panel, to Jeffery, hunched over an alien antimatter reactor.  
"I'm with them," he said, jerking a thumb in Jall's direction and scurrying behind the window.  
"Loser," Jeffery muttered, tapping the last button.  
There was a hum from the device as the magnetic fields activated. Fuel started flowing through the conduits running up and down the empty warp core shaft. After several seconds, the Matrian core lit up and a high-pitched thrumming sound filled the room.  
Jeffery released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. Behind the window panel, Stafford, Jeffery and Valtiac peeked over the console they'd jumped behind when Jeffery activated the reactor.  
"We're, ahem, receiving power," Valtiac said stiffly.  
"Yeah," Jall said, tapping the panel, "Not bad. Do you want to turn up the output? See how much juice we can get out of that sucker?"  
Jeffery examined the Matrian controls on the reactor.  
"Uh, it's already at 100%," he said.  
"What?" Jall sneered, "That's it?"  
"It'll do," Stafford said, turning to go, "Good work, bud. See if you can get the other one going too, OK?"  
"Aye, thanks," Jeffery said softly.  
"It must be nice to be on such good terms with the captain," Jall said snidely as Stafford left.  
"Are ye still on about that double date thing?" Jeffery asked, turning to tinker with the Matrian reactor.  
"That's only part of it," Jall said sharply, "But trying to get me to date Anselia, assuming I'd want to be on Yanick's cheerleading squad…it's all just the last in the long string of his heterosexual arrogance!"  
Valtaic raised an eyebrow.  
"That is a new one," he said, "But did you not enjoy the cheerleading?"  
"That's not the point!"  
"Whatever it is, the two of ye can figure it out," Jeffery declared, "I really don't care about…wait. Do ye hear somethin'?"  
A faint scream, quickly growing louder, could be heard. Suddenly, Crewman Shwaluk flew by, falling down the warp core shaft, bungee cord attached to his ankles. He plummeted past, barely missing the Matrian reactor. The three officers rushed over, peering down the railing and watching as he came slowly to a halt, barely 3 feet above the ejection port hatch. The bungee cord retracted, sending him flying back towards engineering, still screaming and flailing his arms.  
"Of all the-" Jeffery cursed, "If he hits the reactor-"  
Sure enough, on his way back up, Shwaluk slammed into the Matrian reactor, one arm catching against the output conduit and yanking it out of the socket. High-energy plasma surged into the room as Jeffery, Jall and Valtaic bolted behind the closing emergency doors.

"Minor lacerations and contusions," Dr. Wowryk reported, running her tricorder over Jeffery, "Nothing serious. You probably just banged into a console in your mad rush to escape, right?"  
"Aye," Jeffery said quickly. He was sitting on a bio-bed in Sickbay.  
"The rest of you are fine," Wowryk said, "Thank the grace of God you weren't injured."  
"Must I?" Valtaic asked politely.  
"If you know what's good for you," Wowryk answered in the same tone.  
Shrugging, Valtaic looked at the floor.  
"Thank you, God," he said.  
"Um, traditionally, people look up when addressing the heavenly deity," Wowryk said calmly.  
"Human customs," Valtiac sighed.  
"And it wouldn't hurt to put in a prayer for Crewman Shwaluk while you're at it," Wowryk said to all three.  
"Is it really bad?" Jall asked.  
"The plasma output from the reactor dissolved his right arm," Wowryk said bluntly, "It'll take days to clone a new one and attach it,"  
"I guess he's off duty for a while, huh?"  
"Yes," Wowryk said, "Although, he was more upset about not being able to see Jack leave. Whomever Jack is,"  
"Huh?" Jall raised an eyebrow.  
"Well, he said he was upset that he couldn't see Jack off without his right hand," Wowryk said, "Honestly, I don't know who Jack is, or where he's going,"  
"Neither do I," Valtaic said.  
"Forget it," Jall said, "Both of you!" He turned to Jeffery. "How long will it take you to get the reactor going again?"  
"An hour or two," Jeffery answered, "We're goin' to have to get some replacement parts from the Matrians. If they have any to spare,"  
"High priority," Jall said, getting up to leave, "C'mon, Valtaic. Let's go see who else needs to be bothered,"  
"If we must," Valtaic sighed.  
As the two left, Jeffery sat very still, waiting for Wowryk to finish treating his injuries. It had been stupid, really. He'd rolled under the closing emergency door right into his tool kit, cutting himself on a jagged piece of deck-plating he'd removed when he was installing the reactor. He'd jumped up in a panic, banging his head on the corner of a console.  
"I understand you've been working very hard the past few days," Wowryk said, her words sounding a bit forced.  
"There's a lot to do," Jeffery said defensively, "Getting' the Matrian reactors hooked up, runnin' the fuel lines-"  
"And I understand you've been spending a lot of time in the computer core as well," Her eyes flicked over to the far bio-bed, where Sylvia's module lay.  
"There might be somethin' in there that'll tell me what happened to her," Jeffery said.  
"It's not your fault, Simon," Wowryk said, her lips tightening.  
Jeffery suddenly realized that Wowryk had been very calm, almost subdued during his entire Sickbay visit. Even Jall hadn't managed to raise her blood pressure!  
"Noel, are ye OK?" he asked.  
"300 hundred Matrians died just over a week ago," she said, "Is there a reason why I shouldn't be upset about that?"  
"Nay, no reason at all," Jeffery said quickly, "I just sort of thought, that, y'know, after the games on Matria that everybody was feeling a bit better. But Ah guess that's not the sort of thing ye get over easily,"  
Wowryk chuckled.  
"Oh, Simon," she said sadly, "You're so…submissive. I've missed that,"  
"Ye have?" Jeffery squeaked.  
"Well," Wowryk quickly forced herself to be serious again, "Sometimes."  
"Ah hate the way things ended between us," Jeffery blurted, "Ah didn't want to hurt ye!"  
"You did," Wowryk said flatly, "But let's try not to think about that. Otherwise I might have to hurt you,"  
"Yes, Noel," Jeffery said.  
Wowryk worked in silence for several moments.  
"Did ye want to get somethin' to eat at Platterheads when yer done?" he asked.  
Wowryk raised an eyebrow.  
"Not a date, or anythin'," Jeffery said quickly, "But, ye know, ye look like ye could use a friend about now. And Ah know Ah sure could,"  
Wowryk thought for a moment.  
"Just let me check on Crewman Shwaluk first," she said, "The last I saw, Kerry was trying to take a tissue sample for his cloned arm and he was hiding behind the furniture."  
"Doesn't she know ye can do that with just a few strands of DNA?" Jeffery asked.  
"Yes she does," Wowryk said, "But Crewman Shwaluk doesn't."

Captain's Log, Stardate 58844.4

"It's been over a week since the Qu'eh attack. Governess Gelitha's sports thingy was a good way to build our rapport with the Matrians, but we've still got a dangerous enemy out there. We're still fuzzy on what they want; so far we haven't been able to learn anything new about them. I have been meeting with Admiral Verithi, the commander of the Matrian space force, partly to be sure were ready if the Qu'Eh attack again, as well as in the interest of our overall mission. The woman is a vile, rude bitch, but she's determined to whip her people into shape. The scary thing is, when the Matrian Defense Forces are absorbed into Starfleet, she'll probably end up outranking me!  
The Senousian cruiser Nepel'Reng is currently on a scouting mission to some of the nearby systems. Prefect Telfedi, whom I hope to have a closer visit with at some point, hopes that they will be able to learn something."  
"On ship, things are grim. Even with Jeffery's jury-rigged reactors we're going to be hard-pressed to defend ourselves. Sylvia remains 'in a coma' or 'offline', depending on whether you listen to Wowryk or Fifebee. More than a few people are more than a bit upset about this, myself included."  
"On top of this, we still have to focus on our original mission: getting the Matrians back on their feet and settled into the Federation. To that end, Fifebee is working with her team to analyze the data recovered from the wrecked Matrian habitat while I get to go down to the planet and do…something."

"What am I doing again?" Stafford asked. He was standing in the transporter room wearing his white dress uniform and looking for all the galaxy like a waiter in a posh restaurant.  
"You're going down to Matria Prime to observe their council session," Jall reminded him coldly, "Do try to keep your facts straight!"  
"I'm not a politician, though," Stafford groaned, avoiding the obvious 'straight' joke only through the supreme application of willpower, "Why aren't you handling this?"  
"Because by going yourself you're showing the Matrians how important their government is to you," Jall said, "Which it damned well should be, considering!"  
"Plus," Ensign Pysternzyks added from behind the control console, "You have a much better chance at achieving a bloody, glorious death!"  
"That's what I'm afraid of,"  
"I'm here," Dr. Wowryk said crisply, striding into the transporter room, "Now, could somebody tell me what I'm doing again?"  
"Oy," Jall groaned, rubbing his forehead, "Why don't you explain this to the Queen of Darkness? I'm going to go find somebody to yell at,"  
He turned and stepped quickly out of the transporter room.  
"He's angry again?" Wowryk asked.  
"Yeah," Stafford said, looking back in the direction Jall had gone, "I'm getting a bit worried. His fits don't usually last this long,"  
"You're talking about the man who held a three-year grudge against Starfleet for demoting him," Wowryk reminded Stafford.  
"Good point," Stafford nodded, stepping up onto the transporter pad, "OK, are you ready to go?"  
"I still don't know what I'm doing!"  
"Queen Anselia invited us to attend their council session," Stafford explained, "From what I can tell, that means we need to sit in a corner and look pretty while they talk about…stuff,"  
"I think my time would be better spent trying to figure out why Sylvia is still in a coma," Wowryk said stiffly.  
"Is there anything you think you can do?" Stafford was suddenly hopeful.  
"In the short term?" she gave her head a small shake, "Not likely."  
"Then you may as well help me understand just what the hell is going through these people's minds,"  
"I see," Wowryk sighed, "Fun,"

"Have you considered using an inverse tachyon pulse?" Lab Technician 1st Class Smedi asked, leaning over Fifebee's shoulder. She had loaded the data recovered from the Matrian debris and isolated it in a secured computer system. She was in the process of analyzing it, bit by byte.  
"That would require the actual data core itself," Fifebee said, purposefully not looking back at the overweight Trill, "And would have the unfortunate effect of destroying the data core and all data contained within,"  
"Not if you ran it though a phase inverter and a tachyon filter!" Smedi said, smacking one fist into the other palm.  
Beside him, Lab Technician 2nd Class H'Kspeda sighed, her snake-like Selay tongue giving a half-hearted flick. It was the sigh of somebody who knew the battle was lost, but that they were still stuck on the battlefield.  
"If you ran an inverse tachyon pulse through a phase inverter and a tachyon filter, it would not only cease to be inverse, it would also cease to be a tachyon pulse!" Fifebee snapped.  
"Well, yeah," Smedi admitted, "But it wouldn't damage the data core that way, right?"  
"A moot point, considering we do not HAVE the data core!" Fifebee shouted, "Now is there a reason why you are bothering me, or do you have actual work to do?"  
"Well, er," Smedi swallowed.  
"I had a thought for retrieving some of the damaged data from what Mr. Jeffery uploaded last week," H'Kspeda said quickly, stepping in front of Smedi and hoping he'd have the sense to shut up for once.  
"Please, do share it," Fifebee said, sounding more than a bit snide. She'd been through the collection of data fragments up, down, sideways and through a few dimensions not typically used by three-dimensional beings. She had found several interesting tidbits of information, such as the fact that the Matrians used to really enjoy a television show called 'Hender's House'. Unfortunately, the recovered data didn't include a synopsis or any episodes. She'd also learned, from both the bits of recovered data and the scans of the data core itself, that the old Matrian Empire had been at least on par with the Federation in terms of technological achievements. What she hadn't found was something that would really help the Matrians learn about their past. Her attempts at researching the Old Matrians had been especially frustrating, as huge amounts of data showed subtle signs of tampering. To make matters worse, the system was updated daily with reports of Matrians who 'remembered' things differently from the computer records. The result was a giant mess of confusion.  
"Did you try comparing the data fragments recovered in the wreckage to the data files in the current Matrian database?" H'Kspeda asked.  
"That would be pointless," Fifebee said, "The data in the current database has been tampered with. It cannot be relied on. Unless you believe that the Old Matrians actually executed men who could not produce erections of sufficient quality?"  
"Eeeps," Smedi squeaked.  
"But the tampering is subtle, yes?" H'Kspeda asked, flexing her King Cobra-like head flaps, "You could perhaps find enough similarities between the two-"  
"-that I could use the recovered fragments to reverse some of the tampering!" Fifebee exclaimed, "Yes! That is an excellent idea, Ms. H'Kspeda.  
"Thank you-" H'Kspeda started, bowing.  
Smedi promptly shoved her out of the way.  
"So, how do we go about doing this?" he asked Fifebee, "Maybe an adaptive data-mining algorithm?"  
"Somehow," Fifebee said dryly, "I do not think that advanced spyware is going to help us in this case. I will handle it. Thank you."  
She turned and stepped out of the science lab.  
"Damn!" Smedi cursed, slamming a fist against the lab table, "How am I supposed to get dirt on Stafford if I can't even get the senior staff to talk to me?"  
"Maybe you should just-" H'Kspeda started.  
"I've got to get in good with them," Smedi went on, talking mostly to himself, "The whole warp core thing, the attack…there has to be a way to blame Stafford for all of it."  
H'Kspeda sighed. Every since he'd spoken to Lydia Thomspon of Starfleet Humanoid Resources, Smedi had been intent on reporting back to her all of Stafford's many faults. Most of these were dismissed as either 'irrelevant' or 'yes, I already knew about that'. The only exception so far had been the status of Stafford's love life, which Thompson had managed to leak to a few select captains. She'd been thrilled to hear that the resulting fallout had all but ruined the working relationship between Stafford and Jall. She'd been somewhat less thrilled when Stafford went on a sex-binge and wound up being falsely accused of drug use. So far, none of Smedi's 'intel' had been sufficient for what Thompson wanted. In fact, she'd basically told him that their 'relationship' was over. He knew he could get into her good graces by finding something really damaging on Stafford, but it had to be a major screw-up. Something that couldn't just be dismissed as 'Well, that's not as bad as what the Secondprize just did!'. Although nothing like that had come up yet, Smedi was confident that, given the situation in Matrian Space, something would. Sooner or later.

"The Matrian Council is now in session," Queen Anselia announced, ringing a small bell. She was resplendent in a perfectly tailored green suit. Next to her, King Hektor wore a blue blouse and puffy black pants. Stafford and Wowryk, seated in the observer's gallery, had become increasingly aware during their time on Matria Prime, that there was a definite trend among the Matrians, with women wearing what a human would describe as more masculine clothing. Given the dominant role of females in Matrian society, Stafford supposed that made sense. Still, he would much rather see Anselia back in a beautiful gown…maybe something strapless, to better show off those beautiful-  
OK, back on track, he reminded himself. You're here as a Federation representative, learning about the Matrian political system.  
The first thing he'd asked his guide, a young Matrian woman named Kendy, was whether or not Anselia and Hektor were married. He was relieved to hear that since the King and Queen were elected, they were not in fact a married couple.  
The Matrian Council chamber was unchanged from Stafford's last visit. A huge, semicircular room dominated by a raised platform on which the King and Queen sat. Just below this platform was an inset seat and podium for the Speaker, who was expected to run the actual session and ensure that protocol was followed. Surrounding the platform in tiers were over 300 seats, each one filled by a man or woman representing a region of Matria Prime's. An additional 100 seats were empty, having once been occupied by the representatives of colonies and space habitats. At the very rear of the room a long, curved gallery, separated by a window but connected to the chamber's sound system, was set aside for observers.  
"First matter," the Matrian House Speaker said formally, standing to address the gathering, "Is the matter of the Starfleet trespass in Old Matronus,"  
Huh?  
"The matter is on the floor," Anselia said, using the same formal tone, "Discussion?"  
A number of hands went up.  
"The Council recognizes Governor Kesthen of Jentar District," the Speaker said.  
A young-looking man with dark hair stood. A small, automated camera descended from the ceiling, hovering in front of him and transmitting his image to a large screen behind the King and Queen and to anybody tuned in to the Matrian Grand Council channel.  
"My fellow Matrians," he said, "Given that we invited Starfleet to our planet and given that we voted to request their aid in learning about our history, I fail to see the issue,"  
A chorus of cheers and boos rose from all sides of the chamber.  
"The Council recognizes Governess Laurette of K'Tari District, Leader of the Opposition" the Speaker said.  
"Why is that woman still a member of the government?" Stafford asked, "She, like, pulled your entire civilization off track!"  
"Mistress, I'm sorry, Governess Laurette still has many supporters," Kendry said gesturing to the Matrians (mostly women) gathered around the opposition leader, "Leaving her out of our new government would have created major problems,"  
"Crap," Stafford muttered.  
"Old Matronus was one of the last relics of the Matrian Empire," Laurette was declaring sharply, "And it has been destroyed due to the actions of Starfleet!"  
"What the hell?" Stafford snapped, "What are they talking about? We didn't destroy anything of yours! Um, recently, anyway."  
Up on the screen video imagery appeared, showing a huge chunk of space debris. In fact, it happened to be the very piece that Jeffery, Valtaic and Fifebee had explored in the hopes of finding information on Matria's past. As they watched, Qu'eh torpedos impacted the debris, destroying it.  
"The Council recognizes Governor Denethi of Derp District,"  
A tall, blond man stood.  
"Point of Fact," he said, "No concrete evidence exists that the object in question was in fact Old Matronus."  
"Seconded!" shouted another male from the side.  
"Objection!" cried Laurette.  
"The Council has not recognized the Governor of K'Tari District!" the Speaker shouted, "Point of Fact is sustained. Governor Hends of Yutule Distruct now has the floor!"  
Another man stood.  
"Another Point of Fact," he said, "The object in question was destroyed by a Qu'eh attack, not by Starfleet,"  
"Seconded!"  
"Sustained! The Governor of-"  
As the Matrians debated, Stafford turned back to Kendy. He was somewhat surprised to see that the young Matrian was staring intently down into the chamber.  
"What are they on about?" he asked.  
"Hmm? Oh. I'm sorry, Captain." She turned back to face him. "As you may know, one of the events that triggered the Gender Wars was the destruction of a major city by males using a weapon of mass destruction, a vast explosion that devastated the entire city."  
"Yes, I remember that," Wowryk said, "Barbaric,"  
"Well, one of the first things we did after the Reawakening was to scan each of our cities," Kendy said, "Both those that had been restored by the men, and those that remained in ruins."  
"Let me guess," Stafford said, the facts starting to come together, "You didn't find any that were destroyed that way, did you?"  
"We didn't," Kendy admitted, "We found some that were destroyed by convention weapons and some that were destroyed by artificial natural disasters,"  
"What?" Wowryk asked, "How can you have-"  
"Destruction of a dam, causing the city to flood," Kendy explained, "Or use of weather manipulation technology to create tsunami or tornadoes,"  
"Geez," Stafford winced.  
"Our ancestors were very creative in their war," Kendy said.  
"Yeah, no shit," Wowryk muttered, remembering Dreamland and the Matrian Dream Machines.  
"When we started cataloguing the debris in orbit of our planet, we found the remains of what might have been a very large orbital habitat. It was suggested that the 'city' that was destroyed may not have been on the surface of Matria Prime, but in orbit of it,"  
"And it just so happens that we've learned that the object; orbital habitat, space station, city, whatever, was destroyed by a computer virus that caused it's reactor to overload," Stafford said, rolling his eyes, "Oh, great,"  
"As you can see," Kendy said, gesturing to the bickering councilors below, "this is a very sore point between the men and women of Matria. Destroying that city, wherever it was, sparked the Gender Wars."  
"Why do they keep calling it 'Old Matronus'," Wowryk asked.  
Kendy shrugged.  
"Just rumours and folklore. Some of the older women tell stories about the city destroyed by the men. The details are very fuzzy, of course, but they described it as the greatest city of Matria. Would you not make your greatest city your capital?"  
"What a mess," Stafford observed.  
Down in the floor, the discussion had finally reached the point where it could be put to a vote.  
"Those in favour of lodging a formal protest with the Federation over the destruction of the orbital object?" the Speaker asked.  
Many of the councillors raised their hands, fists clenched.  
"Those opposed?"  
Again, many councillors raised their hands, this time with their palms up.  
"The motion fails. Next matter of business, the relocation of workers to assist with the restoration of ship construction facilities…"

"Mr. Jeffery?"  
"Just a minute,"  
Fifebee was walking through a cramped access corridor deep in Silverado's primary computer core. The computer had told her Jeffery was somewhere in the core, but actually locating him was proving to be something of a problem.  
"Mr. Jeffery," she said again, "I need your help!"  
"Ah said just a minute!"  
This time, Fifebee's audio subroutines were able to identify the source of the muffled voice. On a crawlway above her, she spotted Jeffery's legs sticking out from an access hatch, tools, cables and circuitry scattered all around.  
"What are you doing, Simon?" she asked, locating and moving towards the nearest access ladder.  
"Just a few scans," he replied.  
Fifebee pulled herself to his level, then peered into the cramped access space. Buried to his waist in the core, Jeffery had an engineering tricorder in one hand and a medical tricorder in the other. He was running one then the other over a series of bio-neural gel-packs. The gel-packs were a relatively new Starfleet technology; integrating actual lab-cultured brain tissue into the computer system. Most of Silverado was far too old to use the gel-packs, but her computer core was less than four years old. It had, in fact, been the combination of new hardware, old software and repeated exposure to the Matrian Dream Machines that had caused Sylvia to become self-aware.  
"What are you doing?" Fifebee asked again.  
Jeffery sighed, setting down one of the tricorders and tapping at the other.  
"Ah'm tryin' to see if any of these gel-packs show the same stress-readings we get from Sylvia's,"  
"I see," Fifebee said, "And do you know how many gel-packs are in this computer core?"  
"Two thousand, three hundred and ninety-four," Jeffery said immediately.  
"Which, at this rate, will take you three point four months to scan," Fifebee said.  
"Somebody's gotta do it," Jeffery replied.  
"Let somebody else do it," Fifebee replied, "I need your help analyzing the data we recovered,"  
"We've been through it already," Jeffery said, picking up a small med-scanner and running it over the nearest gel-pack, "There's nothin',"  
"I don't agree," Fifebee said, "I think-"  
"Fifebee, Ah'm busy," Jeffery cut her off, "Ah already lost enough time, playin' sports, tinkerin' with those damned Matrian warp reactors and havin' dinner with Noel. Ah have to work on this!"  
"You and Wowryk socialized in an intimate setting?" Fifebee asked, her curiosity and gossip subroutines revving into overdrive,"  
"Go away!" Jeffery snapped, picking up a small neural probe and jabbing it into the gel-pack with a bit too much force. The probe punctured the casing, a jet of blue gel and grayish neural matter spewing over Jeffery's hands. He cursed loudly.  
Put off by Jeffery's uncharacteristic rudeness, Fifebee complied. She would have one of the Nicondii assist her.

Wowryk had fallen asleep. She'd sat in a comfortable chair next to the observational gallery windows. Sitting had led to leaning, then to drooping, then to a state of complete unconsciousness. Stafford couldn't blame her; she'd been really stressed out since the Qu'Eh attack. So he had Kendy bring up a pillow and blanket and had pointedly ignored her annoyed observation that Wowryk wouldn't learn very much if that was her idea of 'observing'.  
Stafford, on the other hand, was completely intent on the council chamber.  
So far, Governess Laurette and other opposition members had tabled five motions that called for protests or formal complaints against Starfleet or Silverado. All of the motions had failed; most of her accusations had been disproved with the simple application of fact. Silverado hadn't invited the Qu'Eh after all, how could they be responsible for the attack? Yes, Stafford and his crew had destroyed several Matrian ships in the past but they'd already been pardoned for that. No, the government would not rescind the pardon. Stafford had finally comm'ed Ambassador Owens and asked him to come up to the gallery.  
"What the hell is going on down there?" Stafford demanded once Owens had arrived.  
"I don't have a clue," Owens said, looking as perplexed as Stafford felt, his dislike of the Starfleet captain forgotten in the face of this new crisis, "The Opposition has been very co-operative up to this point. The motion to apply for Federation membership was almost unanimous!"  
"Well they don't seem to like us very much now," Stafford observed, "And considering we just helped save their planet from an invasion, I would think they'd show a bit of gratitude! We took loses of our own, you know!"  
"Queen Anselia and King Hektor issued a public statement of thanks the day after the attack," Owens reminded him, "No, something strange is happening."  
"At least all of Laurette's motions are failing," Stafford said.  
Owens frowned, sinking deep into thought.  
"Maybe," he said, "But I thought Laurette was smart enough to recognize when her motions weren't likely to pass. It's not like her to waste time like this,"

After another hour of motions, debates, Points of Fact, Points of Order and Points of Decorum, the Matrian Council ended its session, retiring to the reception hall for refreshments. Stafford found Queen Anselia seated at the head table, surrounded by councillors.  
"We hope you found that…educational," Anselia said tiredly to Stafford.  
"It was interesting," Stafford replied politely, "Although I don't understand everything that happened,"  
"Laurette tried to make trouble, that's what happened," one of the male councilors said, "And we thought she'd finally reformed!"  
"Next thing you know, she'll be calling for the de-evolution of the males again," another male snorted.  
"De-evolution?" Stafford asked.  
"Some of the Opposition members have gone on record as believing that our society would be more stable if we reversed the genetic engineering used on the men," Anselia explained.  
"Yes, like making us all drooling morons again will help," the male councillor said, flicking one wrist in a manner that reminded Stafford of Jall.  
"Well, the changes are what caused the Gender War in the first place, right?" Wowryk asked.  
Both men glared at her.  
"Sorry," she muttered.  
"Stupid mistakes were made," the second man said firmly, "on both sides! The women refused to let us take part in the government, and the men decided violence was the way to change their minds. Both genders behaved like barbarians, and tampering with ourselves again isn't going to help!"  
"You don't have to convince us, Jekril," Anselia said tiredly, as though she'd heard the same argument dozens of times. (She had.) "It's a moot point anyway; the technology used was lost decades ago." She sighed, then turned to Stafford. "It's probably a good thing the Qu'Eh destroyed what was left of that habitat. If it really was Old Matronus, who knows what terrible secrets it might have held,"  
"Er, right," Stafford swallowed.  
"Fifebee to Stafford,"  
Ohhh no, Stafford thought to himself. Please, no.  
"Er, Fifebee, maybe you should wait-"  
"I've found something! In the data we recovered!"  
"Ugh," Stafford groaned, "I'll be right up,"  
The Matrians were looking at him in a combination of surprise, shock and horror.  
"How did you do that?" one of the men demanded, "We just said-"  
"It's amazing!" another said.  
"Seems to happen to us all the time," Stafford grumbled, getting to his feet.

Stafford, Anselia and Hektor beamed up to the ship and immediately joined Fifebee in the science lab.  
"Fifebee," Stafford said at once, "I don't know if we should really be messing with this stuff. There have been a few, um, political developments, and it turns out that maybe-"  
"It's too late," Anselia said, cutting him off. "By now, somebody will have told Laurette that something has been discovered. If we try to turn around and deny it, it will only cause more problems." She turned to Fifebee, "What have you found?"  
Fifebee tapped a panel. On her display screen, a table of data appeared.  
"This is a database of Matrian cities, colonies, space stations and starships, along with their locations, status, capabilities, populations, etc." she said, "As you can see, many of the cities are still in ruins and most of the ships have been destroyed,"  
"Yes, we maintained this listing in Dreamland and after the Reawakening," Anselia said.  
"It has been tampered with," Fifebee said. She tapped her panel again and the screen split, another list appearing beside the first one. This list was obviously badly corrupted; junk characters littered the screen, many entries were missing data and dozens of entries were missing all together.  
"This is a similar listing that we recovered from the wreckage," Fifebee said, "As you can see, it's badly damaged. I was able to compare it to the current listing and recover much of the data,"  
She tapped her panel again. The second list abruptly changed, the scatters of random characters coalescing into coherent data. Names, locations, statistics. Stafford immediately saw huge differences between the two.  
"The old list is bigger," he said.  
"Yes," Fifebee said, "Even after I identify all items from the current listing on the old listing, there are dozens of entries that remain. This indicates that the Old Matrian Empire was considerably larger than we originally estimated."  
"How much larger?" Anselia asked, staring intently at the screen.  
"We have no way of determining which of these entries were ships, colonies or space stations," Fifebee said, "Or their relative sizes. And there is more,"  
She brought up a listing of settlements on Matria Prime.  
"I have compared the current listing for Matria Prime with the one we recovered. I have found several interesting discrepancies."  
"Like what?" Stafford asked, his mouth going dry.  
"The city currently designated 'Matronus' is listed on the old record as being named 'Petran'. It is also listed as being much smaller. I suspect that it was made the capital city after the destruction of the previous capital, which you refer to as 'Old Matronus', and subsequently grew."  
"I don't like where this is going," Stafford said.  
"And here is the entry for Matronus on the old listing," Fifebee said, tapping her panel. An image appeared on the screen.  
"Unbelievable," Anselia gasped.  
"Amazing," Hektor exclaimed.  
"Shit," Stafford groaned, "Senior staff, report to the conference lounge. NOW!"  
The object on the screen was clearly an orbital habitat.  
And it was huge.

"I don't understand," Fifebee said to Stafford as Anelia and Hektor discussed the finding, a mixture of amazement and fear in their voices, "Why are you not pleased? We have made an important discovery about Matria's past!" They had relocated to Silverado's conference lounge, directly behind the bridge.  
"How does this kind of thing keep happening to us?" Stafford asked, kicking the wall, "Fifebee, the Matrians are already on the verge of a full argument over who's fault the Gender War was and whether the engineering on the men should be reversed! We'd just said, 10 seconds before you comm'ed me, that if that orbital thingy really was a major Old Matrian city, maybe it was better off destroyed. The Universe hates us!"  
"But if the past was dangerous, why did they request our help in recovering it?"  
"Because," Anselia said, joining into the conversation, "Dangerous or not, the past is important. This discovery will confirm many of our theories and suspicions about Old Matronus, but we do not think it will have much of an impact,"  
"Are you kidding?" Jall asked, standing next to the display, "This habitat, or city, or whatever, it's awesome! If I'd found out that somebody on my planet had destroyed it, I'd want to kick their asses into next week!"  
Stafford bit the inside of his lip, avoiding the obvious 'ass' jokes.  
"It is magnificent," Fifebee agreed.  
"And big!" Jall added, "I mean, I've seen bigger, but damn!"  
Stafford bit down harder, avoiding the obvious 'size' jokes.  
The image suddenly vanished.  
"Oops," Fifebee said, "the data chip slipped out."  
"I hate it when that happens," Jall complained, "Stick it back in!"  
Don't say it, Stafford thought to himself. Don't say it, don't say it, don't…  
"AAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!" Stafford screamed.  
Everybody spun to face him.  
"What is it?" Yanick asked.  
"I bit the inside of my lip too hard," Stafford complained, wiping blood off of his mouth. More spilled out of the deep cut, dripping onto the rug.  
"I think this discovery will cause more problems than you realize," Valtaic said, looking intently at a padd, "This listing, I mean."  
"How so?" Hektor asked.  
Valtiac transferred his padd display to the viewscreen.  
"I have been comparing the list of settlements on Matria Prime with those in the old listing," he said. A list of names and statistics appeared on the viewscreen. One entry started flashing. "One of the settlements listed does not appear on your current list,"  
"It was probably destroyed during the war," Anselia said.  
"No," Valtaic said, "Those are accounted for on your listing."  
"Let me see that!" Fifebee demanded. She tapped for several minutes.  
"I was able to recover this list by comparing the data recovered form the old core with your current database," she explained to the Matrian rulers, "We know the current data has been tampered with, but I found enough similarities to perform a reconstruction. The reason why this entry is not on your current listing is because it was purposefully deleted or excluded."  
Stafford stared at the flashing entry. There was no location listed, no population, and no statistics. If such things had been included before, Fifebee's efforts had failed to recover them.  
"Who would delete it?" Anselia asked.  
"I think the more important question," T'Parief grumbled from his seat, "Is whether or not the person who performed the deletion is still alive. And if they are, why have they not informed the reconstruction teams of this additional settlement?"  
"There can't be another city down there," Hektor said, "Our scans of our planet would have detected it. Even it was in ruins, or buried, or flooded."  
"Maybe it is not a city," T'Parief persisted, "Perhaps it is a military establishment,"  
"That would make it smaller than a city," Jall said, "Fewer people might have known about it to begin with, and it would be easier to hide,"  
"If that's true," Anselia said, "than whoever deleted it from our records is probably keeping it secret for a reason,"  
"And who do we think is responsible for most of the tampering?" Stafford asked.  
"Governess Laurette is the obvious suspect," Anselia said, "But it cannot be proven. She has denied doing so, and our memories prior to the destruction of the Dream Nexus are unreliable at best,"  
"So she may not even remember deleting it," Jall said, "Or even what it is,"  
"She might not," Stafford said, "But she might,"  
"So what do we do?" Yanick asked.  
"Easy," Stafford sighed, "we find out what it is before she does,"

Captain's Log, Stardate 58845.3

"Things just keep going from bad to worse. I swear, if there is a being that created this universe, it hates us. He, she, it…whatever. We're despised."  
"The political situation on Matria Prime is getting a lot rockier than somebody, not mentioning any names here, Admiral, led me to believe. Well, OK, that's not really fair. The council was doing just peachy until the Qu'Eh blew up an empty piece of space junk, which as it turns out used to part of some grand and glorious Matrian orbital city. Even better, my crew just had to go and discover that this grand and glorious Matrian thingamajig was the city destroyed by the Matrian men who started the Gender War in the first place! Now the women are furious with the men, the men are on the defensive, and I'm getting a little worried that Matria Prime is on the path to Gender War II."

Personal Log:

"I haven't forgotten about the people who are blaming themselves for getting us into this mess, even though I keep telling them it's not their fault. I've been trying to keep Jeffery busy with ship repairs, but he keeps hiding in the computer core. He's obsessed with finding something that will help Sylvia. I've also been trying to keep Wowryk busy with Matrian Council sessions, but she keeps running back to Sickbay to check on Sylvia. I appreciate their efforts; I really do. I miss Sylvia's, er, unique input, and I want her back! But she's a tough girl. I know she'll pull through."

"Jeffery! Where the hell are you?" Stafford called, shouting into the deep recesses of the computer core.  
"Over here," a muffled voice came from around the corner. Stafford turned to follow it, promptly tripping over a pair of legs sticking out of an access hatch.  
"Any luck?" Stafford asked.  
"No," Jeffery said, his hand appearing momentarily to seize a piece of equipment Stafford didn't recognize, "But it's a matter of time,"  
"What are you looking for anyway?"  
"Whatever it was that shocked Sylvia had to go through other parts of the computer core," Jeffery said, "If Ah can find a similarly affected gel-pack, Noel can use it in her research,"  
"Noel can, huh?" Stafford made little air quotes, "I didn't realize you two were back on a first-name basis."  
"That's because it's none of your business!" Jeffery said.  
"Hey!" Stafford held up his hands, "Easy there, buddy. I was just asking,"  
"Well don't!" Jeffery said, "What do you want, anyway?"  
"Fifebee found something,"  
"Whot?" Jeffery's legs jerked as he tried to sit up, hitting his head on the inside of the access crawlspace, "Bollocks! What did she find? A damaged gel-pack? A problem in one of the computer subroutines?"  
"Uh, no," Stafford, "She's been searching for anomalies down on the planet. She's found a few strange energy readings that I think are worth checking out. They barely registered on our scanners, so the Matrians probably missed them completely,"  
"Oh. Have fun."  
"I'm sending you down," Stafford said, rolling his eyes, "You're leading the away team, with Fifebee and Valtaic.  
"I can't. I'm busy. Besides, ye know what happened the last time the three of us worked together!"  
"Fifebee's the science expert, you're the engineering expert and Valtaic's the new guy. If there is some kind of Matrian military outpost or something down there, you three can turn it inside out quicker than anybody else,"  
"Send Sage," Jeffery said, "Oh, and T'Parief. It's a military outpost, right? They might have anti-intruder systems."  
"Good call," Stafford nodded, "You leave in an hour."  
"But Sage-"  
"Simon, sending T'Parief is a good call. Sending Sage isn't. You are going."  
"Look, Chris," Jeffery wormed his way out of the access hatch and stood facing Stafford, "Ah can find something here to help her, just give me another day or two,"  
"Simon, I don't know if you've watched the news lately, but things are heating up down on Matria. Did you know that there were 'Feminine Superiority' demonstrations in the capitol this morning? Ambassador Owens is in a panic! And if the Qu'Eh show up again, we're going to need every bit of help we can get!" Stafford put his hands on his hips, "I miss Sylvia too, but if we get blown to pieces, that's not going to help her!"  
"Would ye be willing to stick her on the back burner this easily if she was yer real mum?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Don't start with that again!" Stafford snapped, "I'm not saying that we shouldn't be trying to help her! I'm saying that she's probably going to make it on her own, and that we have bigger things we need to take care of!"  
"That's cold, Chris!" Jeffery said, shaking a hydrospanner accusingly in Stafford's direction.  
"Do you think Sylvia would want you spending all your time buried in the computer core, running on a wild goose chase, while you could be doing something that could help the entire crew, maybe even a whole planet?" Stafford demanded, "Do you think she'd want you to put her above all those people?"  
Jeffery was silent.  
"You leave in an hour," Stafford said. He turned, and left.

"Yanick, mix me a drink," Jall said, walking through the doors to Yanick's quarters and plopping down on the couch.  
"Huh?" Yanick looked up from the table, where she was working on a jigsaw puzzle. (Jall didn't have the heart to tell her half of the pieces were upside down.)  
"Drink. Now." Jall opened his mouth and pointed in.  
"Why don't you, like, go to Unbalanced Equations, or The RoughHouse," Yanick asked, trying to force two pieces together.  
"Because Anselia will find me there!" Jall said, "She's been coming up to the ship at least once a day to keep herself in the loop, and she keeps tracking me down! I swear, she tried to stick her tongue in my ear yesterday!"  
"I thought you and Chris were going to tell Anselia that you were more of a 'man's man'." Yanick said.  
"Stafford was," Jall said, "But then the shit hit the fan and he went on his all-female, all-Matrian sex spree and the whole thing just slipped his mind,"  
"So you say something," Yanick shrugged. She had stepped over to a storage cabinet and had started mixing a real alcoholic drink.  
"Right," Jall sighed, "Tell the world ruler that you're not interested in her. She'd probably get all emotional!"  
"No, probably not," Yanick said. She finished mixing the drink and handed it to Jall.  
"Please," Jall said, "If you were chasing some guy, and he told you to buzz off, you'd be heartbroken,"  
"Well, maybe," Yanick admitted, "But haven't you noticed that the Matrians don't really do things our way?"  
Jall cocked his head, then downed the rest of his drink.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well," Yanick said, getting up to mix him two more, "Everything's all switched around. The Matrian women are, like, all aggressive and chase after men, while the Matrian men, like, prefer getting chased. The women wine and dine the men, bringing them flowers and all that. Also, did you notice how totally into the sports the Matrian women were? That's usually more of a man thing, right?"  
"Soo…they've got their gender roles a bit confused?"  
"That's what I think," Yanick said, handing him the second drink. "I mean, why else would Anselia think Stafford's into men? Compared to the Matrian men, he acts the way she'd expect a woman to ask. While you...well, you don't really fit either role. She probably thinks you act the way you do because that's how men in our society act,"  
Jall downed his second drink and started giggling. Yanick handed him the third.  
"So if I tell her I'm not interested, she's just going to shrug and go chasing after the next pretty face that comes her way?" he laughed.  
"Probably," Yanick said. She suddenly noticed the time. "Hey, aren't you on duty?"  
"Yup!" Jall giggled and threw back the third drink, "I didn't think you were going to actually give me booze this early in the day!"  
"Ohhh," Yanick giggled, "And I mixed them strong, too!"  
The doors hissed open again. This time Stafford stalked through.  
"Yanick, mix me something to drink…oh. Jall. I didn't know you were here,"  
Jall stood and ran one finger down the center of Stafford's chest. Stafford's face broke into an expression somewhere between surprise and disgust.  
"I'm here, big boy!" he said. Yanick fell back on the couch, laughing. It was just way too easy for Jall to get on Stafford's nerves.  
"Quit it!" Stafford snapped, slapping the offending hand away. He looked closer at Jall's face. "Are you smashed?"  
"Yup!" Yanick said, "Sorry Chris, it's my fault."  
"I don't even care at this point," Stafford grumbled. He collapsed onto Yanick's couch as she went back to her drink stash. Stafford rubbed his hands over his forehead. "Somebody please just tell me this mission is one gigantic bad dream!"  
"My bad dreams usually involve farmers," Jall said.  
"I don't want to know…wait." Stafford frowned, "Farmers?"  
"No fashion sense at all," Jall said, as though explaining the obvious, "And usually covered in cow shit!"  
"HEY!" Yanick objected, handing Stafford a drink, which he promptly swallowed.  
"Ugh," Stafford sighed, "Y'know, when I became a captain, I didn't realize I'd have so much trouble dealing with my colleagues. "  
"Did you have another argument with Jeffery?" Yanick asked, handing Stafford another drink.  
"How did you know that?"  
"Because you always get like this after fighting with him," Jall said, still giggling, "It's almost like you're a married c-"  
"Shut up, Jall," Stafford and Yanick chorused.  
"He has a point though," Yanick added, "You guys were best buds on your last posting, right? I don't know about you, but I sure haven't been seeing that since we were all posted together,"  
"Yeah," Stafford said, "I mean, we sort of had a bit of a falling out when we arrived, because he knew all along about Operation Salvage but didn't bother to tell me. Then he wound up in the brig, then he left the ship for a while. Then there was the whole business with the Delori, and the first officer fiasco. We just keep drifting apart."  
"It happens," Jall said, suddenly serious, "You can be best friends with somebody for ages, then suddenly you realize you haven't spoken in 5 years,"  
"I don't want that to happen with me and Jeffery," Stafford sighed, finishing his second drink, which Yanick promptly replaced, "I don't want that to happen with any of us,"  
"Us?" Yanick and Jall asked.  
"All of us," Stafford sighed, taking another swing, "You, me, Wowryk, T'Parief, Fifebee. Hell, we've already lost Noonan. Doesn't anybody else miss that guy?"  
"Yup!" Yanick said, suddenly looking sad.  
"I know we get on each other's nerves sometimes," Stafford frowned, "Most of the time. But we're a team! We've been living together for over three years!"  
"I love you guys!" Yanick sniffed. Suddenly tears started flowing, and she started hugging Jall and Stafford.  
The doors hissed open. This time Queen Anselia walked in, her security escourt waiting in the corridor. She stopped as she saw Jall and Stafford seated on the couch, both more than a bit drunk, with Yanick sobbing between the two of them. Her security escort, Ensign Simmons, smirked as the doors closed.  
"Are we interrupting something?" she asked.  
"Just a little, er, bonding," Stafford said.  
"Ah. We were just going to ask Mr. Jall if he'd care to join us for dinner in Matronus," Anselia said, eyeing Jall like a slab of meat.  
"Oh boy," Stafford groaned.  
Jall stood and faced Anselia.  
"Your Majesty, I have a confession to make," he said, "Things are a bit, um, backwards,"  
"With you, that's an understatement," Stafford muttered.  
"Hey, I'm trying to help you here!" Jall snapped at him, "See, your Majesty, Stafford's not the one into guys. I am. He's the one into women. Into you, actually. He's been totally obsessed with you since we arrived, especially your breasts. I know we should have told you sooner, but we weren't really sure how to tell you,"  
"Oh," Anselia looked back and forth between Stafford and Jall. Finally, her eyes focused on Stafford.  
"We'll pick you up at 1900h," she said firmly, "Wear something sexy,"  
With that she turned and left. Simmons gave one last look into the room, smirked again, then followed.  
Stafford stared at Jall.  
"What? Is it that hard to believe that I'd do something to help you?"  
"A bit," Stafford said, "But I'm mostly trying to figure out how you can keep talking to women about their breasts without getting slapped!"

Still feeling a bit sloshed, Stafford stepped into Transporter Room One. Ensign Pysternzykz was standing behind the control panel, double checking the beam down coordinates. Valtaic, T'Parief and Fifebee were already waiting on the transporter pads; Fifebee's holo-relay taking up the larger, central pad.  
"Ready to go?" Stafford asked.  
"As soon as Mr. Jeffery arrives," Valtaic replied, his energy field flaring slightly in irritation.  
"Stop that," Pysternzykz snapped, his lip curling, "You're throwing the transition coils out of alignment!"  
"And disrupting my holo-relay!" Fifebee added.  
"Apologies," Valtaic said, inclining his head.  
The doors hissed open and Jeffery stepped in. He had an engineering kit hanging from one shoulder.  
"Ah, good. Yer all here," he said.  
"Glad you're all good to go," Stafford said.  
"Where are we going again?"  
Up on the pad, T'Parief closed his eyes and let out an annoyed breath.  
"Fifebee found an area of the planet with some strange energy readings," Stafford said, "You're going down to investigate. Your primary mission is to figure out what it is. If it's some kind of Matrian military installation, your mission is to search it for anything that could help with planetary defence. Your secondary mission is to recover any information you can get on Matrian pre-war society. Preferably something that's going to help calm things down!"  
"Security threats?" T'Parief asked.  
"Unknown," Stafford replied.  
"Do the Matrians have any information on that region of the planet?" Valtaic asked.  
"Not really. The area is mostly desert. None of the populated Matrian cities are anywhere nearby, but the ruins of a city destroyed during the war are less than fifty kilometers away," Fifebee explained.  
"Maybe check it out if you get the chance," Stafford suggested.  
"Anything else ye'd like while we're at it? Jeffery asked sarcastically.  
"Yes," Stafford said, keeping his tone serious.  
"And what's that now? The miracle cure to Klingon crabs?"  
"Take care of yourselves," Stafford said. He nodded to his officers, then at Pysternzyks.  
"Energize,"

"It's almost been half an hour," Yanick said.  
"They're not due to check in for another 10 minutes," Stafford replied.  
"Jeffery probably found some funky Matrian toy and is just too busy to call us," Jall said.  
"Hmmm," Wowryk said.  
The four of them were in Sickbay, standing around Sylvia's bio-bed. Not that she was lying on it the way a human would have, but her module was sitting under the bio-sensors. There had still been no change in her condition.  
"Jeffery to Stafford,"  
"Stafford here!" Stafford slapped his comm-badge, "What's up, buddy?"  
"Did ye realize when ye put me in charge of the away team that T'Parief outranks me?"  
"Oops," Stafford cringed, "I forgot,"  
"It does not matter," T'Parief's low growl came over the line, "I will follow Mr. Jeffery's orders, as expected,"  
"See? No problem," Stafford said.  
"Oh, and we found an entrance to…something," Jeffery said.  
"'Something'?"  
"There is some kind of dampening field," Fifebee reported, "But we have found two doors. One is very large, the other is-"  
The line was suddenly interrupted by a burst of static.  
"Say that again, Fifebee," Stafford said, "You're breaking up!"  
"You…king…up…"  
The line suddenly became clear.  
"Mr. Jeffery is opening the door."  
"Fifebee? Be careful!"  
"We are in some sort of structure," Fifebee reported, her voice again filling with static, apparently oblivious to Stafford, "It is… large; possibly…hanger of some kind-"  
TSREW!  
The unmistakable sound of weapons fire came over the comm-link, which again filled with static.  
"Fifebee!" Stafford shouted.  
"Return fire!" T'Parief's voice came over the line, along with the sound of Starfleet phasers. Assorted shouts and cries broke through the static.  
"Jeffery!" Stafford yelled, "T'Parief! Report!"  
The line went dead.  
"Stafford to bridge! Get me the away team!"  
There were several seconds of frantic beeping as Lt. Commander Stern tried to hail the away team.  
"No response, sir."  
"Pysternzyks to Stafford,"  
"Yes?"  
"Captain, the away team has disappeared from my sensors! Have they been killed in glorious battle?"  
Stafford and Jall exchanged worried looks. Yanick gave a small gasp, one hand coming to her mouth. Wowryk quickly put an arm around her.  
"I…I don't know," Stafford said. Jall just shrugged, his jaw dropping.  
"I don't know," Stafford repeated softly.

To be continued…

Next: What did Jeffery, Fifebee, Valtaic and T'Parief find down on Matria? Are they dead? Do they wish they were dead? Find out in next in Silverado 4.12 – 'White to Move'.


	12. White to Move

Star Traks: Silverado

4.12 "White to Move"

Previously on Star Traks: Silverado:

"Hey, isn't it my turn to do the voice-over?" Jall asked.  
Yes, but I decided that I wanted to do it this time.  
"You don't get to do that! It's my turn! I have a much prettier voice than you, and I've been waiting to do a voice-over forever!"  
No. I'm doing it.  
"Screw off!" Jall said, "OK, folks, so, last time, on Silverado-"  
There was a blinding flash of light as one of Silverado's cobbled-together Matrian reactors overloaded. The reactor exploded, ripping apart the engineering section and detonating the antimatter storage pods. The resulting release of energy vaporized the entire ship, killing everybody aboard instantly, except for Jall who was ejected through the bridge dome to spend several seconds in open space before his life was snuffed out.  
Oh, and the explosion also caused a subspace rip that destroyed the entire Matrian star system.  
Nobody tells me what to do, bitch!

o

o

o

o

o

o

o

In his home in Maryland, Alan Decker sat at his computer, shaking his head.  
"That kid has already been in the military far too long," he sighed.  
"Something wrong, honey?" Jen asked, looking over his shoulder.  
"You know that guy from Canada? He just went nuts and killed off all of his characters,"  
"Oh," Jen looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hey, do you want to go do that thing married couples do?"  
"YES!" Alan shouted, jumping to his feet and starting to pull his shirt off over his head, "God, yes! It's about time!"  
"Good." Jen said, "I'll get the kids and let them know we're heading to the mall,"  
"Crap," Alan muttered, pulling his shirt back on and slouching down into his chair, "I knew it was too good to be true. Just hold on. I gotta talk this guy out of blowing the shit out of everybody,"  
"Why would he do that anyway?" Jen asked.  
"Well," Alan said, "last time, on Silverado, the crew was still trying to recover from getting their asses kicked by the Qu'Eh and by an Old Matrian computer virus that blew up their warp core and put Sylvia, their sentient computer, into a cybernetic coma. Stafford and Wowryk were dragged down to the planet for some political crap, and found out that all the Matrians were getting their panties tied into knots over this old chunk of space station that was blown up. Then Fifebee had to go and learn that the chunk of space station was actually part of an orbital city, the destruction of which was the big trigger that set off the whole Gender Wars. She also found out there was another settlement, or military installation or who the hell knows what somewhere down on the planet. She managed to track down some funny readings, but when Valtaic, Jeffery, T'Parief and Fifebee went down to investigate, Silverado lost contact with them. Heck, for all anybody on ship knows, they're dead. Neat, huh sweety? Sweety?"  
Alan looked back to find his wife asleep in another chair, drool starting to form at the corner of her delicate mouth.  
"No shopping today," he sighed, "Thank God!"  
He turned to his computer, opening his email program and starting a new message.  
"Brendan," he muttered as he wrote, "First off, not liking the new story all that much. Killing off your characters really kills off much chance of your storyline developing, and really turns the rest of your story into anti-climatic crap. So don't kill them. Oh, and if your wife ever tries to drag you on a shopping trip you don't want to go on, just start talking about your series. It'll put her out like a light!"

Insert funky re-wind sound effects here

Captain's Log, Stardate 58845.5

"No, seriously, did anybody else feel that? I could swear we were just in oblivion, and that it tasted like mocha latte and apple-cinnamon scone. And there were these two…things there, and all I can remember thinking is 'stupid Writers', over and over again! Nobody? C'mon! Hey, Stern, put away the frickin' butterfly net, I am not crazy! I'm telling you, oblivion tastes like apple-cinnamon scone! It's all the Writers! The stupid Writers!"

"Is he going to be OK?" Jall asked Wowryk as they watched Nurse Kerry administering to the now-sedated Captain Stafford. Stern had dragged him through the doors to Sickbay, still raving about 'the Writers' and mocha lattes.  
"He's over-stressed," Yanick said, looking worriedly at the unconscious man, "He's been trying to deal with this Matrian thing, Jeffery and Wowryk, and now our away team's gone missing!"  
"Wait, why is he trying to 'deal' with us?" Wowryk demanded.  
"Y'know," Yanick said, her eyes tearing up again, "Because you were in charge of the ship when the Qu'Eh attacked, which I'm REALLY sorry about, but you were the senior officer and it was the right thing to do, and you know, the Qu'Eh like, totally screwed things up here, and lots of Matrians on the space station died, and you buried yourself down here trying to help Sylvia, and Chris was all worried that you were beating yourself up over something that wasn't even your fault, but he wasn't sure how to help you, but wanted to, and Jeffery's been obsessed with the computer core because he thinks that when he uploaded the data he caused the virus thingy to blow up the warp core and put Sylvia in a coma, so he's-"  
She stopped, taking deep breaths.  
"Just hold on a sec," she gasped, holding up one hand "I need to catch my breath,"  
"It's OK, Trish," Jall said, patting her on the back, "I think Wowryk gets the picture,"  
"It's sweet of him to care," Wowryk said, "I didn't realize he was stressing himself out so much over me,"  
"Well, it's not just you," Yanick started to say, before Jall clamped a hand over her mouth.  
Wowryk stepped into her office and emerged with a large book in one hand.  
"What are you doing?" Jall asked.  
"I'm going to say a prayer for him," Wowryk said casually.  
"Oh," Jall wasn't sure what to say, "We'll, uh, leave you to it."  
"Oh, Noel?" Yanick broke free of Jall's grasp.  
"Yes, Trish?"  
"Say one for the guys down on the planet too, OK?"

Earlier…

Jeffery materialized on the surface of Matria Prime, Valtaic, Fifebee, T'Parief and Fifebee's holo-relay all materializing around him. He took a deep breath of what he expected to be fresh air, then coughed as arid, desert dust caught in his throat.  
"Who the hell puts a…a thing…in the middle of the bleedin' desert?" he demanded, his one cough leading to a full coughing fit.  
"Area 51 was in a desert, wasn't it?" Fifebee commented. She was actually enjoying this environment. Compared to the other planets she'd visited, the Matrian desert was pleasantly free of insects or other annoying creatures.  
"I will be cleaning dust out of my scales for days," T'Parief complained.  
"You all need to stop whining so we can do our jobs," Valtaic said with his customary bluntness. He casually increased the energy field emitted by his body, causing his teammates' hair to stand on end, but also repelling most of the blowing sand and dust.  
"Neat trick," Jeffery commented.  
"Excuse me," Fifebee said, her image flickering slightly as she pulled her holo-relay further from Valtaic.  
"I am a laugh riot at parties," Valtaic said flatly.  
"Ah just bet," Jeffery said. He turned to Fifebee, "So what are we looking for, anyway?"  
"That, I believe," she pointed.  
The away team was standing in the middle of an empty, near featureless desert. Sand dunes rolled under the hot, oppressive sun. Even though Matria Prime had a very low axial tilt and therefore no real seasons, it still had a broad range of climates. And the desert was definitely hot, dry and sandy. Not a scrap of vegetation could be seen, just endless rolling sand dunes.  
To the east however, the dunes changed slightly. Oh, they were still sand dunes, but they rose in a huge, rounded hill. The geological subroutines in Fifebee's program suspected that there was a lava dome, or some other formation of solid rock that the dunes had covered. Either way, it resulted in a very, very, very big hill. Heck, it was almost a sand dune mountain!  
In the side of which, there was some kind of structure.  
It had a military look all right. It almost looked like somebody had taken one of Waystation's upper docking bays and parked it in the side of a sandy mountain. There was a huge, articulated hanger door surrounded by a solid-looking overhang. Judging from the doors, the hanger or docking bay or whatever it was could easily accommodate the Matrian patrol ships and scouts that they'd seen so far.  
"That's big," Jeffery observed.  
"It is also the source of the energy readings I found," Fifebee said. She was tapping at her tricorder as she walked closer to the structure, the rest of the team following her, "Although I was expecting something bigger,"  
"Bigger?" T'Parief asked.  
"There is a lot of energy being produced," Fifebee said, "And something is interfering with my tricorder. Possibly a dampening field. But if that's the case, then there is even more energy being produced here than I originally calculated,"  
"Oh,"  
As they neared the giant door, Jeffery was able to make out a smaller, airlock-sized entrance next to the hanger-sized door.  
"I suggest we call the Hazardous Team down here at once," T'Parief said.  
"I doubt we need them," Fifebee said, "This place has probably been abandoned since the Gender Wars,"  
"Ah think she's right," Jeffery said, "And I'm in command here…" his voice trailed off. He turned to face T'Parief, "Wait, if ye got promoted to Commander, why am Ah in charge of this mission?"  
"Because the captain said so," T'Parief rumbled.  
"Oy," Jeffery sighed, tapping his comm-badge, "Jeffery to Stafford,"  
"Stafford here!" Stafford's voice came over the channel, "What's up, buddy?"  
"Did ye realize when ye put me in charge of the away team that T'Parief outranks me?"  
"Oops," Stafford said, "I forgot,"  
"It does not matter," T'Parief's said, "I will follow Mr. Jeffery's orders, as expected,"  
"See? No problem," Stafford said.  
"Oh, and we found an entrance to…something," Jeffery said. They were approaching the smaller door. He spotted a control panel next to it, labelled in Matrian characters. Jeffery, of course, had no idea what the symbols meant, so he simply started tapping away randomly at this tricorder, a trick an old buddy of his had shown him.  
"'Something'?" Stafford was saying.  
"There is some kind of dampening field," Fifebee reported, "But we have found two doors. One is very large, the other is-"  
The line was suddenly interrupted by a burst of static.  
"Say..again, Fifebee," Stafford said, "You're…up!"  
"No," Fifebee said patiently, "You are the one that is breaking up,"  
As Jeffery continued his key punching, an image of the control panel suddenly appeared on his tricorder screen. English letters were now super-imposed over the Matrian characters. He quickly located the 'open' button and pressed it. With a hiss, the door slid open. T'Parief was immediately there, pushing Jeffery to the side and pointing his phaser into the dark opening.  
"Mr. Jeffery is opening the door." Fifebee reported.  
"Fifebee?" Stafford called, his voice breaking up as static overwhelmed the channel, "Be careful!"  
With T'Parief leading the way, the away team slowly filed into the airlock. With the dust behind them, Valtaic let his energy field collapse. As the outer door closed and the inner door opened, they found themselves looking out into a vast chamber. The ceiling was at least 6 levels above them; huge luminpanels bathed the chamber in a soft reddish-white light. There were several half-decks filling the empty space, on alternating sides of what Jeffry was now positive was a hanger bay. Each one took up half of the total floor space and had a graceful, filigree railing around the inner edge. Judging from the height and width, Jeffery was sure the 'shelves' had been built to accommodate Matrian scout ships. Up on one side, a windowed structure that had to be a control booth clung to the bulkhead. The whole thing was done up in colours of soft blue and red, which to Jeffery looked downright girly, especially with the bleedin' red accent lighting.  
Wait. If nobody had been here in over a century, why were the lights on?  
"We are in some sort of structure," Fifebee reported, "It is very large; possibly a Matrian hanger of some kind-"  
TSREW!  
T'Parief's arm shot out, sending Jeffery sprawling to the deck as an energy beam speared through the space where his head had been. He and Valtaic fired back, shooting in the general direction of their assailant. They ran for the nearest cover: a support beam directly ahead of them. Fifebee gave her holo-relay a shove, the device bobbing on its antigravs as it glided along the other wall.  
"Return fire!" T'Parief's shouted. There were now several still unseen assailants; energy beams were coming in from at least 4 different directions. And they were moving closer. There was a shriek of static from Jeffery's comm-badge before the channel went dead. Whatever was interfering with the signal, it became worse as they moved deeper into the installation.  
Jeffery popped out from behind his hiding place and fired his hand phaser. A startled shout told him that he'd hit his mark, but another beam struck him in the side, sending him toppling to the deck.  
"Jeffery!" Valtaic snapped, dropping to check the status of the fallen officer.  
"Get back!" T'Parief snarled.  
Valtaic looked across the bay just in time to see a shadowy figure raising a weapon. He clenched his fists, pulsing his energy field as hard as he could. The shadowy figure fired, the energy blast hitting him full in the chest. He fell back, tingling with the shock, but unhurt.  
A pair of doors to their right hissed open, several energy blasts coming out and catching both T'Parief and Fifebee off-guard. T'Parief was hit immediately, Fifebee's phaser was shot out of her hand. Deciding that getting up would be a bad idea, Valtaic froze; lying sprawled back on the deck.  
"Don't move, hologram!" the lead figure snapped, "Any tricks and your friends die!"  
Hmmm, Valtaic thought to himself, So Jeffery and T'Parief were only stunned. Good to know.  
"You know who I am," Fifebee said. It was a statement, not a question.  
"Everybody on Matria knows who you are," the lead figure said, coming into the light. To Valtaic's surprise, it was a male. He was tall for a Matrian man, about six feet or so, and solidly built. Valtaic had read in Silverado's computer records that the Matrian men were very healthy and fit, (if on the slim and wiry side) on account of years of physical labour, but he had noticed since arriving on Matria that most had 'let themselves go'. This one, evidently, had not.  
"I'm sure there are a dozen tricks you could pull," he went on, "Make a hundred copies of yourself. Make yourself 50 feet tall. I doubt I can hurt you; according to the information I have you aren't really even here, your program is still on Silverado. I warn you though, any attempt to warn your crew, return to your ship, or do anything to interfere with my mission and I will kill your friends."  
"I may not have a choice," Fifebee said calmly, promptly abandoning the message she had been about to send to Silverado's tactical console, "Something here is interfering with communications. If my holo-relay loses contact with the ship, my program will revert to Silverado's internal holoprojectors immediately. And you may want to work on some of those anger issues. Maybe over a nice cup of tea and some cookies?" Fifebee quickly adjusted her personality database subroutines. No point in being nice to the bad guy.  
"Don't worry, we're prepared to handle you," the man said, ignoring the offer of tea. He had been joined now by several other Matrians, mostly women, "We brought this along,"  
They pushed in an anti-grav platform. On it was a Federation computer core. It was orders of magnitude smaller than the core on Silverado, probably given to the Matrians by Ambassador Owens and the USS Wasagaming to help with something or other.  
"Download your program into this core. Now," the Matrian ordered.  
Fifebee considered arguing, then remembered that several weapons were pointed at the unconscious forms of Valtaic, T'Parief and Jeffery. She initiated a command-level interface with Silverado's computer and, using the subspace transceiver on her holo-relay as a link, transferred her program to the smaller core.  
One of the Matrians standing next to the core consulted the display, then nodded. Another ran a cable between the core and her holo-relay while a third reached up and detached the subspace transceiver. She was now completely cut-off from Silverado.  
Down on the floor, Valtaic inwardly cursed.  
"Good," the male Matrian smile, "By the way, I'm Gragun, representing the Females Against Male Integration and for Negative Evolution."  
"F.A.M.I.N.E?" Fifebee asked, lifting an eyebrow.  
"We want to immediately restore the natural order of things to Matria," one of the women said, "And you are going to help us!"

"Excuse me, may I help…oh!" Wowryk almost took half a step back in surprise, "Queen Anselia! Good day, your Majesty. What brings you to Sickbay?"  
"We are looking for Captain Stafford," Anselia said, smiling politely at Wowryk. She was standing at the entrance to Sickbay wearing a beautiful black suit. She had a giant bouquet of flowers held in one arm. "He was supposed to ready for me to pick him up at his quarters half an hour ago,"  
"Oh," Wowryk smiled weakly, "He's…indisposed."  
"Oh, is he?" Anselia sighed, "Well, we suppose that's the end of our date then. Figures. What happend to him, anyway?"  
"Date?" Wowryk narrowed her eyes, "Exactly how did he get you to agree to go out with him?"  
"We asked him out," Anselia said, "Once we found that Mr. Jall…well. That he doesn't appreciate the female form,"  
Wowryk shuddered.  
"Yes well," she said, "Believe it or not, he's occasionally a welcome change, compared to some of these guys who appreciate it too much!"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Men are horny pigs," Wowryk snapped, "At least, on most planets they are. I don't know how it is on your planet, anyway,"  
"Pigs? What do you mean?"  
Wowryk suddenly realized that she was speaking to the ruler of an entire planet. Anything she said, anything she did, might shape the way the women of Matria dealt with alien men for the next century! She had a responsibility to be truthful, to be honest.  
"Guys want sex," Wowryk said bluntly, "Look at the way Stafford was acting during the sports thing! They want to get into your shield perimeter so they can breach your hull, if you get my meaning. All their fancy romance and courtship and all that bullcrap is just a ploy to get under our pants!"  
"Oh really," Anselia said, "It sounds like you don't have much use for them,"  
"Well, I…" Wowryk trailed off.  
"Weren't you the one who tried to convince us that men weren't that bad, right before Dreamland shut down? Anselia said, frowning, "We can't really remember, it's still hazy. But didn't you come into Dreamland to rescue the man you loved?"  
"Yes," Wowryk admitted.  
"We are guessing you ended up dumping his sorry ass," Anselia shrugged. She walked over to Stafford's bio-bed and plunked the flowers into a nearby vase. She started leaving, then turned back to Wowryk.  
"On our world, it's the women who are the 'horny pigs'," she said, "Your ship will only be here for a few months…we certainly don't plan on anything more than a casual relationship with Captain Stafford,"  
"Wha-wha-what?" Wowryk exclaimed.  
"We think you need to open your mind a bit, Doctor," Anselia said, walking out the door.  
"Told you it wasn't just me," Nurse Kerry said.

Valtaic was still feigning unconsciousness.  
A pair of burley, Matrian women had already dragged Jeffery away, then returned with an anti-grav unit for T'Parief. Valtaic was the last to be taken away and, presumably, carted away to a holding cell or locked storage room or something. After delivering their dramatic proclamation (which Valtaic rated four out of ten) they had escorted Fifebee out of the chamber, presumably to someplace where she could 'help' them.  
Valtaic opened one eye and regarded the Matrian guard standing a few feet away. She had a weapon, he did not. Attacking her would be pointless, unless she came much closer. He turned his attention instead to the mystery they had found.  
It was possibly a military installation of some kind. That, or a spaceport. Considering that there was really nothing in the middle of the desert that people would want to visit, the spaceport option was quickly neglected. So he was in the hanger of a Matrian military installation. The installation was underground, either by design or due to a century or two of sand being blown on top of it. The installation was hidden by a dampening field, but Fifebee had been able to locate it once she knew there was something to locate. A group of Matrians had also found the installation, though because nobody had informed Silverado they were probably not part of the Matrian government. Unless the Matrian government was part of the plot. But if so, why would they encourage Silverado to search for the installation?  
Once again, he found himself wishing the rest of the galaxy was as upfront as his own people.  
The sound of footsteps informed him that the prisoner relocation team had returned for him. He remained as limp as possible as they hoisted him up and started carrying him towards the exit. He very carefully cracked open one eye again. He was being dragged through a corridor, a pleasantly standard one at that. Valtaic was immediately reminded of an apartment he'd stayed in once, with ordinary deck plating, plain paneling on the walls and light figures that were pleasantly functional. He also noticed that he now had only two Matrians to deal with.  
His energy field was nearly exhausted; the energy needed to negate that stun blast was almost beyond his ability to produce. But he gathered his strength and pushed every erg of power he had into the network of conductive minerals in his epidermis. There was a sharp CRACK of electricity and the two Matrians holding him cried out, their bodies twitching from the shock as they fell to the deck.  
Quickly grabbing their weapons, Valtaic darted for the nearest cross-corridor.

"I fail to see how I can help you," Fifebee said. She'd been escorted by her captors into the control room overlooking the hanger bay, "I know nothing about this facility, having only just arrived,"  
"You're a Federation scientist," Gragun said, "It's your job to figure out things like this."  
"Figure out?" Fifebee repeated, "What do you need me to figure out? This is a Matrian complex. You are Matrians. You undoubtedly know more than I do."  
Gragun snarled a bit.  
"Unless, of course, this installation contains technology that dates back to the Old Matrian Empire, which I am almost certain it does," Fifebee sighed, "In which case, you are almost as clueless as the rest of us as to what it is and how to operate it. The question that remains is who your leader is, and why you suspected I was coming."  
Gragun open his mouth to speak, but Fifebee cut him off.  
"Most likely," she said, "your leader is either Governess Laurette, or somebody with a mindset similar to hers. I suspect that you hoped to have a great deal of time to ponder the mysteries of this place, however your leader was certain that Starfleet, in this case meaning Silverado, would eventually find it. And because I am in charge of all research activates undertaken by Silverado, you knew I would be here eventually. And so you made sure you had a computer system compatible with my program so I could be harnessed for your use,"  
"Actually," Gragun crossed his arms, "We brought the core along to help us with our research. We really had no idea you'd be showing up, but we did a pretty good job of improvising, didn't we?"  
"You know," Fifebee said, "Had you kept your mouth shut, you would have left me with the impression that all of this was a carefully laid-out, well planned operation,"  
"Get to work!" Gragun shouted, "Before I call the Mistress!"  
"Oh, very well," Fifebee sighed. She quickly located a panel and activated the screen. A series of Matrian characters appeared on the screen.  
"This installation has been locked and can only be unlocked by  
Watilma or an administrator," Fifebee translated, "Please enter your password."  
She turned to Gragun.  
"What is the password?"  
He shrugged.  
"This is as far as we've been able to get," he admitted.  
Fifebee sighed.

Jeffery woke up with one hell of a headache. Either he'd gotten into a bit too much scotch the night before, or he'd been stunned.  
He opened one eye and looked around. He was in a small, windowless room. Right next to him, T'Parief was also beginning to regain consciousness.  
OK, so he'd ether gotten into WAY too much scotch the night before, or they'd both been stunned.  
Suddenly he remembered to mission to Matria Prime and the underground hanger bay they'd found.  
"That's a relief," he sighed. He tapped his comm-badge, only to get a screech of static. Next to him, T'Parief rolled over, groaned and started to pull himself to his feet.  
"I guess this means we were not killed in glorious battle," he said.  
"Ye sound disappointed," Jeffery replied, rubbing his aching head.  
"It would have made my parents very happy,"  
"Ye must have had a messed up childhood,"  
"You have no idea," T'Parief said, "My father still tracks each kill I make."  
"Does that count the potpourri lizards ye shredded last weekend?"  
"We agreed to keep that a secret," T'Parief grumbled, "Especially from Trish!"  
"Right, right," Jeffery looked around, "So, any idea how we get out of here?"  
T'Parief pressed a button next to the door. He was surprised when it hissed open, but not particularly surprised to see two armed Matrians pointing very large weapons at him.  
"Good day, ladies," he nodded politely.  
"Good day, pathetic man," one of the Matrians nodded back.  
T'Parief stepped back and allowed the door to close.  
"Nothing comes immediately to mind," he said.

"You have been working for an hour. What progress have you made?" Gragun demanded.  
"None," Fifebee said.  
"Do I have to remind you that I'll kill your friends if you fail?"  
"Why couldn't you have kidnapped Jall?" Fifebee asked, "Then I would not have to care!"  
Gragun cocked his weapon.  
"Observe carefully," Fifebee said. She pressed a button on the panel. The system emitted an annoying 'BEEP!' She pressed another random key, with the same result. "Do you expect me to simply commune with the computer without using an input device?"  
"Isn't that what holograms do?"  
"Ugh," Fifebee grunted. She pried off an access panel and began examining the circuitry. At least it would look like she was trying.  
"Why is your faction so interested in this place?" she asked, "From what I have seen, it is simply an empty hanger. Is there something in the rest of the installation that is worth the trouble?"  
"With the computer system locked, we don't know," Gragun admitted, "All we've been able to find so far is the hanger, a few corridors and a lot of locked doors."  
"Why are you telling her so much?"  
"Mistress!" Gragun gasped, immediately bowing his head, "I…I thought that she would be better able to assist us if she-"  
"Idiot man," the Mistress, an attractive-looking dark woman in her mid-thirties, then turned to Fifebee, "I am Mistress Juliani. You know, honey, at least your created did something right when she gave you the image of a woman,"  
"Actually," Fifebee said, "My creator was male,"  
"Your society is so strange," Juliani chuckled. She grew serious. "Lieutenant, because you are a woman, I will be honest with you. My master knows that this is a very important place, a place of great power. There is something here that can change the very course of Matrian society. That is why she worked so hard to find it. What she can't remember is why it was so important."  
"Let me guess," Fifebee said dryly, "She thinks there is a great weapon here that will allow her to obliterate her enemies?"  
Junliani looked almost sad.  
"Oh, sweety. You really don't understand F.A.M.I.N.E. at all, do you?"  
"Considering I'm a hologram, no," Fifebee said dryly.  
"Our goal is to return Matria to a truer, more pure society," Juliani said, "Where men are men, and women are women. And where women are back in charge. But we're not idiots! We're not going to achieve our goals with huge weapons," she laughed, "That's what caused most of our problems to begin with! A pack of men with what your people now tell us was a computer virus that turned power sources into massive bombs."  
She walked over to another console, regarding the unchanged message with no small amount of irritation.  
"What we need is information. Technology." She turned back to Fifebee, "What we need is every piece of knowledge and technology the Old Matrians had, so we can leverage that into political power. Surely you've noticed how desperate our people are to learn about what the Matrian Empire was like before the Gender Wars."  
"Desperate like Stafford on a Friday night," Fifebee acknowledged.  
"This computer system may contain the only intact records from that time," Juliani went one, "We really don't care about what this place was used for, only what it can tell us about our past!"  
"If that is the case, why are you not here with the sanction of the Matrian government?"  
"Because they want to create a 'grand and glorious new Matrian Republic', with equality for all," Juliani said, "We want to return to the old ways."  
"So you would take away the wisdom and intelligence your ancestors gave your men,"  
"Everybody makes mistakes," Juliani shrugged, "Now get to work!"

Lt. Cmdr. Valtaic was lost.  
Unlike males of most other species, he had no trouble admitting it. He had run into a group of Matrian men patrolling the corridors near the hanger bay, and in the ensuing chase he'd become turned around and confused. If he'd had a tricorder, he might have been able to use it to find his way back. On the other hand, the dampening field might have prevented that.  
Valtaic was exhausted. His energy field was completely dead; the organ in his chest that produced the necessary energy was drained from his earlier exertions. It had been a long time since he'd been in a similar situation, and he hated how vulnerable it made him feel.  
He took a turn in the direction that he thought would lead him back to the hanger, noticing again how feminine the Matrian architecture was. The support struts were all gently curved, as were the sidewalls of the corridor. At foot level, long lighting strips provided illumination, matched by lit panels in the ceiling. The red and blue colours used might be soothing and pleasant by Matrian standards, but Valtaic felt like he was walking through a giant artery.  
He'd barely made it two steps into the new cross-corridor when he ran face-first into a solid wall. Of course, if his energy field had been up, he would have sensed the barrier before running into it! Actually, why the hell would the Matrians build a corridor that extended a few feet before ending? There were no doors, no control panels and no possible reason for the corridor to end!  
Valtaic frowned. He held out one hand, running it slowly against the solid wall he'd encountered. He could feel something in his fingertips, something very faint, but there. He reached his other hand out to touch the side corridor wall. Nothing. He put both hands against the strange wall and focused. He still couldn't generate an energy field, but he was successful in getting a bit of juice into his fingers.  
There was a loud CRACK and he was promptly thrown back from the wall, across the corridor he'd been walking through and against the far bulkhead.  
That settled it. That was no wall. It was an energy barrier. Force field, possibly masked by a hologram. Wincing as he climbed to his feet, Valtaic immediately determined that trying to get past the field would be futile in his current state, and that he should continue searching for his colleagues.  
Listening carefully for any signs that the Matrians had heard the force field tossing him around, he carefully resumed walking.

Jeffery and T'Parief were still sitting in their cell, contemplating the mysteries of the universe.  
"So, how're things with Trish?" Jeffery asked.  
Of course, every man knows that the greatest mystery of the universe is women.  
"She remains as beautiful a person as ever," T'Parief said calmly, "Although I am still learning to cope with the fact that she has little to no killer instinct,"  
"Really? Have ye seen what happens when somebody comments on her waistline?"  
"Actually, some of our most erotic moments have started that way,"  
"Whatever floats yer boat, I guess," Jeffery shrugged.  
"What does that mean?" T'Parief said.  
"Hmm? Nothing!" Jeffery said, "Ah was just thinkin' how, y'know, if Noel had had some kind of erotic thingy like that, we might still be together,"  
"What do you mean 'whatever floats your boat'?" T'Parief insisted.  
"Er," Jeffery was suddenly sure he'd said too much.  
There was a soft, repeating 'snick' sound as T'Parief unconsciously extended and retracted his claws.  
"Look, bud," Jeffery said quickly, "Ah mean, it's obvious that the two of ye aren't anywhere near the same species, right? Ah mean, the rest of us know yer attracted to her personality, and she like yers, and yer muscles, but Ah can't imagine how she'd get off shagging a giant green lizard! Or why ye'd want to get it on with a dainty little blond thing like her! Ah mean, isn't there some hot Parian chick just dyin' to get under yer…uh, scales?"  
T'Parief looked at him for a moment, then sighed. It was the single, saddest sound Jeffery had ever heard the giant officer make. His entire body seemed to deflate, from his cranial ridges to his gigantic shoulders and right on down.  
"You are right," he admitted, "I do not even know if she finds me attractive. When I started dating her, I knew I would have to date a woman who was not of my species, but that has changed. And she…I do not know why she stays with me,"  
Jeffery was now sitting with his spine as stiff as a board, feeling as uncomfortable as hell. T'Parief wasn't supposed to have worries and problems! T'Parief was the rock-solid reptile that wasn't bothered by anything or anybody, except for Jall. And everybody was bothered by Jall. To have this guy admitting these kinds of problems to Jeffery was just…bizarre.  
"We have kissed, fondled and otherwise engaged in foreplay, but we have only recently consummated our relationship," T'Parief went on, "And we have been together for three years. I know that such a thing is almost unheard of in human society."  
"Ye had the…um, problem," Jeffery said, every muscle in his body clenching.  
"Yes, but that has been taken care of," T'Parief went on forlornly, "Things started very passionately, then cooled. I can only conclude that mating with me was not enjoyable for her,"  
Jeffery winced as a very unwelcome mental image started forming.  
"And I will admit," T'Parief was still talking. Why was he still talking, Jeffery wondered, "I have not pushed for it either. I am…concerned that I might…injure her. Klingon and Andorian mating is quite violent, and considering that I possess both fangs and claws. We have found sports equipment to be most useful, but still, it can be very dangerous. "  
Jeffery's eyes glanced over to the doors. Maybe the Matrian guards would come in and torture them, or something.  
"There is also the matter of our relative sizes to consider," T'Parief went on.  
`"Whoah, whoah," Jeffery finally said, "That's just a bit too much information!"

First Officer's Log:

"Life sucks. Then you die, and your lifeless corpse is burned to a crisp in the upper atmosphere of a star,"  
"We've been scanning the planet for hours now, and we still can't penetrate whatever dampening field is around the Matrian installation. We haven't learned anything new, no matter what kind of scans we run on the energy readings. I sent down the Hazardous Team, to see if they could break into the damned place, but the entrances have been sealed shut from the inside. I could always just order them to shoot their way in; a few cutting phasers might do it, but Queen Anselia doesn't want us shoot at their precious Old Matrian relics, I'm holding off on that until Stafford wakes up. Even if they did get in, they'd probably end up in the same situation as the away team. I just hope they're only captured and not dead."

"C'mon, Trish," Jall said, "This isn't optional!"  
"I don't wanna go," Yanick said, sitting on her couch and pouting.  
"It'll do you good," Jall insisted, grabbing her by her hands and pulling her up, "We're going to drag Wowryk there, maybe Ensign Grant. Valtaic doesn't really have any friends on board, but it's the thought that counts,"  
"He made friends with that bird-lady on Waystation," Yanick sniffed, "He didn't talk about it, but there were feathers stuck to his uniform for, like, a week afterward."  
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Come on,"  
"Jall, why are you dragging us for drinks? The captain's been sedated, Sylvia's still in a coma and T'Parief and those guys are missing on the planet!"  
"Exactly. Life is really shitty." Jall said, "But we can't help Stafford, we can't help Sylvia and the Hazardous team is running scenarios in case we decide to break into that place. There's nothing for us to do but wait, and that's the worst part of any crisis."  
Finally giving in, she followed Jall to Unbalanced Equations. They stopped by Sickbay on the way. Wowryk was hovering over Sylvia's module, medical scanner in one hand. The doctor gave surprisingly little protest when Jall informed her it was time to go for drinks, leading him to conclude that she was coming to realize there really wasn't anything should could do for the AI.  
Shortly after, Jall, Yanick, Wowryk and Grant were seated at one of the table in Unbalanced Equations.  
"OK," Jall said, sipping something fruity, "We're here because people you care about are missing in action down on the planet, and I don't think you should be sitting alone in your quarters at a time like this,"  
"Uh," Grant spoke up, "Lieutenant Commander Fifebee and I aren't 'together'. We've just been fooling around. Besides, she can't be dead or anything, her program-"  
"Her program vanished from the computer shortly after we lost contact with them," Jall said, "The computer logs show that somebody downloaded it remotely."  
"Then at least somebody is still alive!" Yanick said.  
"Huh. Yeah, I guess so," Jall said.  
"If they downloaded her program," Wowryk said, "That seems to say that they have more interest in capture than in killing,"  
"Yes, I, er, thought of that," Jall said.  
"So if they're probably not dead, why are we having this little feel-good session?" Grant asked.  
"Look, even if they're not dead, which I totally had thought about already, thank you, they're still MIA," Jall snapped, "And since we're talking about Trish's boyfriend, the closest thing Wowryk's had to a male friend and the woman Grant is sleeping with, I thought-"  
"Actually," Wowryk said, "I've been giving a lot of thought to my time with Simon today,"  
"Really?" Yanick asked, "How come?"  
"The Matrian queen said some very interesting things about Matrian society," Wowryk said.  
"Does this have to do with the way their women wear the pants in their relationships?" Grant said, "Cuz that's totally hot!"  
"T'Parief doesn't like wearing pants," Yanick said dreamily, "He says his tail always gets in the way, even if there's one of those little holes for it to come out,"  
"I've come to the conclusion that Jeffery isn't the closest thing I've had to a male friend," Wowryk said.  
"Really?" Jall asked. This wasn't really the topic he'd had in mind, but his plan was to distract them from the missing crewmen after all, "Who is? Is it me?"  
"Hardly," Wowryk said, "But you are much less unbearable than you were before."  
"So who's your male buddy?" Yanick asked.  
"Well," Wowryk looked a bit uncomfortable, "Captain Stafford,"  
"WHAT?'  
"Huh?  
"Really?"  
"Why?"  
Wowryk shrugged.  
"He's never been interested in me sexually," she said, "Well, except for that thing with the Matrian SID that was malfunctioning, and that wasn't his fault."  
"I've never been interested in you sexually," Jall said. Yanick shushed him.  
"I was just looking at him, unconscious on the bio-bed, after Queen Anselia left, thinking about the times he's come to talk to me," Wowryk went on, "After I became Queen Wowry, before we went on that rescue mission in the Matrian Dreamland and then after Jeffery and I had our little fight. We've fought, we've argued, I've thrown things at him, but when I need him, he seems to just drop by,"  
"That's kinda sweet," Yanick said.  
"I had no idea Stafford had it in him," Jall quipped.  
"Um, can I go?" Grant asked. Everybody ignored him as he eased away from the table.  
"You're not, like, thinking of asking him out, are you?" Yanick asked.  
"Oh my, no," Wowryk said, "After his man-whore spree on Matria? He's still a filthy man, and I'm sure he'll be fornicating with Queen Anselia as soon as he wakes up from the sedatives. But I have been thinking a lot about my own love life,"  
"Or lack thereof," Jall said.  
"Exactly," Wowryk said, "I think I have to change that,"

Valtaic was detecting a pattern.  
He'd found 3 more of the false walls in his explorations. All appeared to be sealing off corridors that ran in the same direction. Presumable, whatever was sealed off was buried deeper underground. Armed with that bit of knowledge, Valtaic knew the direction he had to travel in to find the bay. Sure enough, after a few minutes of walking, he found himself in a small lounge looking into the cavernous chamber. His hand came up to slap his comm-badge, before realizing that it had been taken by the Matrians. Carefully, he peered through the window.  
There were far more armed Matrians in the bay than before. The airlock door they had entered through was now heavily guarded. Escape did not seem to be an option.  
He eased back out of the lounge, watching carefully for Matrians patrolling the corridors. He would need to find his crewmates. There were only a few logical places for them to be. They were probably either stuffed in a closet somewhere, or they were with the Matrian leader being interrogated and possibly tortured.  
With that in mind, Valtaic started to make his way to the control booth.

"I really don't understand your society," Juliani was saying as Fifebee probed the circuits under the panel, "Men were actually the dominant sex for much of your history?"  
"The Federation is comprised of many different cultures," Fifebee reminded her, using the Matrian equivalent of a tricorder to trace a command pathway, "In many, males started as the dominant gender due to their greater strength and aggression. Even in these male-dominated societies, women eventually achieved equality. Some societies were female-driven initially. Regardless, equal rights for both sexes is one of the most basic freedoms that the Federation demands from its member planets,"  
"Bizarre,"  
"I should point out that Matria is unique in that your men were genetically inferior to women." Fifebee said, "That does make your planet unique. Or, it did,"  
"Yes, it did," Juliani said, "Not anymore, though,"  
"You cannot change the past, dear" Fifebee said, "At least, not without traveling through time and potentially causing great damage to the timeline,"  
"Hmmm?"  
"Nothing, nothing," Fifebee said quickly.  
"Anyway," Juliani went on, "By returning the men to their former state we're returning our planet to the way the creator meant it to be,"  
"Perhaps," Fifebee said, "But it seems to me that most of your people prefer to keep the men as they are,"  
"We're smarter than they are,"  
"I see,"  
Fifebee climbed to her feet.  
"This is not working," she said bluntly, "I had hoped that by scanning the input buffer, I could determine the keystrokes needed to unlock this terminal. Unfortunately, the buffer contents have deteriorated over the past century or two."  
"Try something else," Juliani said firmly.  
"There really isn't anything else to try," Fifebee said.  
"Are you sure? If you're out of ideas, then I should simply kill all four of you and save myself the grief of holding you captive,"  
"When you put it that way," Fifebee sighed, "I may have another idea or two,"  
Even with her advanced audio pickups, she didn't hear the thumps as Valtaic took out the two guards standing outside the control booth. Seconds late, the doors hissed open and the maroon officer dashed in, firing his stolen Matrian weapon at Juliani and her bodyguards. Juliani was stunned, but her bodyguards returned fire, narrowly missing Valtaic.  
"Ignore me, get my relay!" Fifebee snapped. She lunged at the guards, trying to distract them. One fired at her with his weapon, the beam disrupting her magnetic containment fields and causing her image to blur like watercolours in a thunderstorm. The light show was enough to keep the bodyguards busy as Valtaic grabbed the holo-relay and shoved it into the corridor, the computer core being pulled on its anti-grav by the connecting cable. Fifebee reset her imaging system, materializing next to him. The two of them raced down the corridor.  
"We have little time," she said, "My program is stored on this portable computer core. We must hide it, or they will be able to delete me,"  
"We cannot run carrying both the core and your relay," Valtaic declared. He led her to a stairway he'd found, one the Matrians seemed to be ignoring in favour of the turbolifts.  
"Is there a place where we can hide it?"  
"Yes," Getting off on the deck below, Valtaic quickly located an empty room, one of many he'd found during his wanderings. It was a matter of minutes to grab the portable computer core, stash it under a tablecloth and reactivate the subspace link. Unfortunately, this deep into the installation, the relay could not connect to Silverado's computer. But unless the Matrians sat down for dinner in that particular room, the core should remain hidden. Pulling Fifebee's relay with them, they started making their way through the complex again, stopping several times to listen for (and avoid) the Matrians that were now searching for them.  
"Do you know where the others are being held?" Valtaic asked.  
"Yes," Fifebee said. "Juliani has been threatening to have them killed,"  
"Why did we not try to rescue them before hiding the computer core if their lives were in danger?" Valtaic asked.  
"Because it would be hard to rescue them if I blinked out of existence halfway through the process," Fifebee said.  
"Ah, yes. Of course,"

Stafford slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on a bio-bed, in Sickbay. Somebody had put a big bouquet of flowers next to his bed. He pulled himself to a sitting position and looked around.  
"Ah, you're awake,"  
Stafford recognized the voice of Dr. Krenton, the night shift physician.  
"Yeah," Stafford groaned, "What the hell happened,"  
"No clue," Krenton shrugged. Seeing that Stafford was OK, he turned back to the 'Days of Honour' re-run that was playing on a display screen, "But you seem to be fine now."  
Stafford sat for a moment, waiting for his head to clear. Well, fine then. He'd head on up to the bridge and see what was what.

"This problem has been building over the past few years," T'Parief was still talking, "There was never any question that we cared deeply for each other, but the physical problems were always in my mind. I suppose we felt that love could conquer all,"  
"Aye," Jeffery said dully. Why was T'Parief still talking about his love life? Why? Why?  
There was a sudden thud as something struck the door to their prison, then the doors hissed open and Valtaic rushed in.  
"Hurry up!" he commanded, "The Matrians are closing on us!"  
Jeffery dashed to his feet, T'Parief close behind him.  
"I managed to escape when they stunned the rest of you," Valtaic explained, "I rescued Lt. Cmdr. Fifebee, we have secured her imaging equipment and are now rescuing you,"  
"Why did you rescue her first?" Jeffery asked, following Valtaic as he ran down the corridor.  
"I suggest we save that irrelevant discussion for later," Valtaic said.  
"Right, let's get the hell out of here!" Jeffery said.  
"Actually, I suggest we wait on that as well," Valtaic said.  
"What? Why?"  
"There are many armed Matrians guarding the only exit," Valtaic said, "A fight to escape would be difficult, and if we employed Mr. T'Parief to his full extent, many Matrians would be killed. I believe we have to avoid that now, as they are about to become Federation members."  
"Yes," T'Parief sighed.  
"However, I have found something that bears further investigation,"  
"Oh?" Jeffery asked, "What?"  
"I believe that whatever the Matrians are searching for, I know where it is,"

Stafford arrived on the bridge, only to find the night shift watching the same re-run.  
"I don't get it," Lieutenant Day said, "If Minister Vlag is in love with that character, why kill the character off? Why don't they just get it on and be done with it."  
"Because Klingons like it better this way," Pye said from the helm.  
"Uh, hi guys," Stafford said, waving weakly, "Report?"  
"Sir!" Quintaine exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "T'Parief, Valtaic, Fifebee and Jeffery are still missing on the planet. The Hazardous Team is running rescue scenarios in the holodeck, Queen Anselia refuses to let us attack the thing on the surface and wants to reschedule your date. Oh, and Commander Jall is comforting Wowryk and Yanick, since their loved ones are missing down on the planet.  
"Our date?" Stafford exclaimed, "Crap! I forgot!"  
"Hey," Ensign Bith spoke up from Tactical, "We're getting a message from a Matrian scout ship,"  
"On screen," Stafford and Quintaine ordered.  
"This is the Matrian scout Tres to all vessels in Matrian space! We have detected a Qu'Eh attack fleet at the extreme edge of our sensor range. We believe they will reach Matria Prime in less than 24 hours! We are awaiting orders!'  
"Message repeats," Bith said.  
"Crap," Stafford said, "I really should have just stayed in bed,"

Fifebee was standing in a short stretch of corridor, staring at a blank piece of wall when the rest of the team came dashing around the corner, Matrian energy blasts searing the air as they flashed by. T'Parief and Valtaic took cover behind the corner and started returning fire as Jeffery joined Fifebee at the wall.  
"What is it?" he asked.  
Fifebee pulled out the Matrian tricorder she'd been using.  
"The interference is preventing this device from scanning the wall," Fifebee said, "However; Mr. Valtaic believes it is a force field of some kind. If the Old Matrians wanted to hide something in this installation, this would be the logical place to do it,"  
"Sounds like ye need an engineer's touch," Jeffery said. He started looking around for a wall panel. He found an access panel near the floor and popped it open.  
"Wow," he said, "They're using an electro-plasma system, sort of like what we have on Silverado," he carefully started probing the circuits, "This is really first-class workmanship! It looks like they used a composite duranium alloy for the structural-"  
"Just open the door!" T'Parief snapped, ducking back as several energy blasts flashed by.  
"Just a sec," Jeffery said, "It's alien circuitry! Ah don't wanna damage somethin' we might end up needin',"  
The sound of running footsteps could be heard as their pursuers drew closer. T'Parief and Valtaic continued firing, but the Matrians were persistent.  
"Mr. Jeffery," Valtaic shouted, "We are about to be re-captured and possibly tortured or killed unless you can turn off that force-field!"  
"OK, OK," Jeffery muttered. He fiddled with the innards of the panel.  
"Jeffery!"  
"Almost got it!"  
The footsteps were even closer now.  
"JEFFERY!"  
"There!"  
There was a strange, electrical sound as the holographic wall and the force field both shut down.  
"Hurry!" Jeffery shouted. Fifebee darted through first, holo-relay in tow. Valtaic and T'Parief dashed through next. Jeffery, quickly praying he knew what he was doing, slammed the access cover back into place and jumped through, barely clearing the force-field before it reactivated. He stumbled, catching himself on T'Parief and narrowly avoiding crashing to the floor.  
"See?" he asked, "Ah told ye I could do it,"  
"Uh-huh," Fifebee said.  
"Honestly! Ah did!"  
"Jeffery?"  
"Ah even put the force-field back up so they can't follow us…" Jeffery trailed off. Nobody was paying any attention to him.  
"What are y'all lookin' at?"  
He pushed his way between Valtaic and T'Parief, eager to see just what exactly the Matrians had been hiding here. A weapon? Treasure? A vast library filled with knowledge that would rival that of Memory Alpha?  
"What the f**k?" he demanded.  
"We were just wondering the same thing," Fifebee admitted.  
The corridor they were in ended after a few feet, opening into a small antechamber. The colour scheme was the same as the rest of the installation, but somehow the room seemed less utilitarian. The floors were some kind of polished stone rather than plating, the bulkheads inset with curving patterns. Three workstations lined the far wall, behind which there appeared to be an exit.  
"It is a processing station," Valtaic said, "For checking security clearances, and such.  
"Oh!" Jeffery exclaimed. He pushed his way to the front of the group, remembering that he was in charge after all, "Aye, Ah can see that,"  
"It makes sense," Fifebee said, moving closer to one of the consoles, "According to Juliani, this installation contains something of great importance. Surely the Matrians were most careful about who was allowed in?"  
The four of them eased their way past the workstations and into the next room.  
"What the f**k?" Jeffery exclaimed.  
The new, larger chamber they found themselves in held neither treasure, weapons nor information. Instead, they found themselves in what could only be described as an opulent travel station. A small tram sat next to a loading platform, with seating for around a dozen people. The lights were the same pinks and blues as before, but in the center of the high-ceilinged room was a large, circular illumination panel, bathing the room in what almost felt like sunlight. Several planters inset in the walls held the shrivelled remains of dead vegetation.  
"This doesn't appear to be anything of military or political significance," T'Parief said dryly.  
"It does not," Valtaic agreed.  
The four officers looked at each other for a moment, confused.  
"What do ye think we should do?" Jeffery asked Fifebee.  
"I suggest," she said, stepping further into the room, "That we explore,"

End


	13. Castling

Star Traks: Silverado

4.13 "Castling"

Voice of Queen Anselia

"We really do not understand this Earth custom. But if you insist, we will perform this…voiceover."  
"Last time, on Star Traks: Silverado, Captain Stafford missed our date because he was sedated in Sickbay, and we didn't get any action at all! Men, never willing to…oh. What? This is supposed to be about what happened to the other characters, not us? We see. Our apologies."  
"T'Parief, Fifebee, Jeffery and Valtaic, after being captured by Matrian rebels, managed to escape into a sealed-off section of the underground installation they had found. In the meantime, word of a new Qu-Eh attack fleet has reached Matria Prime. Now, as the away team tries to figure out how to escape the installation, Stafford and the rest of the crew must figure out how to defend our planet!"

"Ah, Capain," Dr. Wowryk said, "I was hoping I'd catch you before the meeting,"  
"Oh yeah?" Stafford asked, walking towards the door to the conference lounge, "What's up?"  
"Well, sir, you've been under a lot of stress lately, and I'm a bit worried about how it might be affecting your health," Wowryk explained.  
"I went crackers and starting raving about coffee and cinnamon buns," Stafford said dryly, "I think that ship has sailed,"  
"It was scones, actually," Jall said from behind them, "And stop it, you're making me hungry!"  
"I want you to wear this," Wowryk said, handing him a small device, "It will tell you when your stress levels are getting too high,"  
"Uh, whatever you say, Doc," Stafford said, strapping the device to his wrist. It immediately started beeping.  
"Let's just turn down the sensitivity a bit," Wowryk said.

"Just over 20 hours," Stafford said, "That's how much time we have before the Qu'Eh attack fleet gets here. And there's still no word from our people on the ground."  
"That sucks," Jall said. He was seated in the conference room, along with Wowryk, Stern, Yanick, Day and Sage. With so many of his senior staff missing and presumed in deep shit, he was relying heavily on evening shift officers, "But if you want, the Hazardous Team can break down that door in about 15 minutes or so,"  
"We can't," Stafford said, "I need the HT in Matronus, preparing the Matrian volunteer forces for a possible invasion. Except for Mr. Stern. You're acting Chief of Security until T'Parief gets back,"  
"If he gets back," Sage said. Yanick gave a small gasp.  
"Sorry," Sage said sheepishly.  
"Mr. Sage does raise a point, even if he did so with without an ounce of tact," Dr. Wowryk put in, "We still don't know if our people are alive or dead, a fact you don't seem to be putting much focus on," She was speaking calmly, but there was a glint of steel in her words. Frankly, Stafford was amazed at how politely she was bringing up her concern. He figured she'd be throwing stuff at him by now.  
"I'm not writing our people off," Stafford said, "But the evidence we have so far points at them being captured, not killed, right Mr. Jall?"  
"Yup,"  
"I'm thinking T'Parief will be a big help in getting them out of trouble," Stafford went on, "And, to be blunt, we have bigger problems. The entire planet is in danger. That doesn't mean I'm willing to give up on our people," he added quickly, noticing the angry looks on several faces, "But I think we can agree that they have a better chance of taking care of themselves than the Matrians do,"  
"So what's the plan?" Day asked, his hands folded on the table in front of him.  
"The Matrian fleet is assembling as fast as it can," Stern spoke up, "We also have a few cruisers and about two dozen fighters coming in from Senous,"  
"I thought the Senousians had made more progress in rebuilding their fleet?" Stafford said.  
"They're not willing to leave their own world completely undefended," Stern said.  
"Everybody's got their priorities," Wowryk said darkly.  
"How do we stand?" Stafford asked Sage.  
"In deep shit," Sage said.  
"How about some specifics?"  
"We have no warp core. The two Matrian reactors we patched in will help, but our shield and weapon power is going to be limited," Sage said, "Sylvia is still off-line-"  
"In a coma!" Yanick spoke up, "She's not some random computer system!"  
Sage looked at her strangely.  
"In a coma," Stafford said firmly.  
"Right, well. Without her, our systems aren't playing as nicely as they should be. We didn't have the same disconnection problems we had when Stalart yanked her out of the core, probably because parts of her were still interfaced."  
"Anything new on that front, Doctor?" Stafford asked Wowryk.  
"Some improvements in her neurotransmitter levels," Wowryk admitted cautiously, "I think that's a good thing,"  
"You think?"  
"She's one of a kind, Chris," Wowryk said, crossing her arms, "I don't exactly have a medical journal I can refer to!"  
"You're doing fantastic," Jall said soothingly. He gave Stafford a quick warning look.  
"Anyway," Stafford said, "I want this ship battle-ready as she can be in 10 hours. Mr. Jall, I want you to beam down to Matria Prime and brief the Queen,"  
"Aye, sir," Jall said, "No problem! I'll have that girl up on all the low-down in no time!"  
Stafford and Wowryk stared at him.  
"He means 'no problem'," Yanick translated.  
"Oh,"

20 minutes later…

"OK, I'm here," Stafford said, walking into the spacious antechamber outside of Queen Anselia's opulent office. Jall and Ambassador Owens were waiting for him. "Now, why can't you brief the Queen? I thought you said she'd be down with all the left…I mean, up with all the back…ugh! I thought you said it would be no problem!"  
"Well, there was a problem," Jall shrugged.  
Stafford's stress monitor beeped.  
"Indeed," Ambassador Owens said dryly, "By the way, why are you beeping?"  
"It's for my health!" Stafford said. He tuned to Jall, "Why? What did you do?"  
"It wasn't anything HE did," Anselia's voice announced. A page had pulled the officer door open, revealing her standing there in her official 'Matrian Queen' wardrobe, "Rather, Captain Stafford, it was you sending your second-in-command to brief us when you could have done so yourself,"  
Stafford was taken aback. Anselia had always been so cordial, so polite when dealing with him. Why was she acting like this?"  
BEEP!  
"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "But this sort of thing usually falls to the first officer. As Captain, I should be on my ship,"  
"We realize that Matria is not officially a Federation member yet," Anselia said, "But we think that given the circumstances, we should continue as if we were,"  
"I agree," Stafford said quickly. Was this about him missing their date?  
BEEP! BEEP!  
"Actually," Jall jumped in, "Maybe that's not such a good idea-"  
"Jall, if they were a member planet, what would we be doing right now?"  
"Calling for help and getting ready to defend them," Jall said.  
"And what would be doing if they weren't?"  
"Invoking the Prime Directive and getting our asses out of here,"  
Stafford stopped in his tracks.  
"Oh. Good point."  
"Ugh, we do not have time for your political games!" Anselia cried, "We are all in danger, including your ship!"  
"We could put the final issue of Federation membership to a vote right away," Owens suggested, "Instead of waiting for another week,"  
"Very well," Anselia said, "We will see to it. Right now, we need our Minister of Planetary Defence to brief the Defence Council so we can start planning our strategy."  
"Sounds good," Stafford said, "Who's your Minister of Planetary Defence?"  
"Uh-oh," Jall muttered.  
"You are," Anselia said, handing Stafford a briefcase and a rather official looking medallion of office, "Congratulations on your promotion, Mr. Minister. Commander Jall, I trust you will have your ship ready in time?"  
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!  
"A-As ready as she can be," Jall stammered. Stafford's mouth was flapping open and closed like a beached fish, but Jall was far too stunned to notice.  
"Good. Minister Stafford, your briefing starts in half an hour. Your assistant will show you there. Please try to do something about that strange sound beforehand,"  
"But…but…my ship?" Stafford stammered, forcing out words.  
"Chris," Anselia's voice turned gentle, "We know you men have a tendency to get emotionally attached to things. But we need you here. And Starfleet regulation something-or-other states that Starfleet officers will assist as needed during times of emergency. This is where you're needed. Mr. Jall can handle your ship." Her voice turned hard again, "We really must insist,"  
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!  
"But…insist?"  
"I realize this is unexpected," Ambassador Owens stepped in, "But in this case, I agree with Queen Anselia. You can do more good here than on your ship,"  
Stafford turned to Jall.  
"You are NOT captain!" he said, "Silverado is still MY ship!"  
"Uh-huh," Jall muttered, an evil gleam in his eye. Stafford noticed his expression.  
"Fine. Enjoy it while you can. You're probably going to get blown up in a day or so anyway,"  
The gleam immediately faded.  
"Oh,"  
"It will be a great deal of work," Anselia said to Stafford, "And we are afraid that some of our people will not be pleased with having an off-worlder telling them what to do,"  
"Such as?" Stafford asked tiredly.  
"Well, you remember Admiral Verethi?"  
BEEP! BEEP!  
"The commander of your space forces?" Stafford shrugged, "We've been trying to meet her, but she's always 'busy'. And her messages have been sort of…rude,"  
"Sort of rude?" Anselia smiled, "That's good to hear,"  
"What? Why?"  
"Because it means she is trying to be polite with you," Anselia sighed.

Jeffery pushed T'Parief out of his way, putting himself in the lead.  
"Out of me way, scaly!" he snapped, "Ah'm still in charge of this away team!"  
"I was checking for security risks," T'Parief snapped back.  
"The place is deserted! Jeffery said, "There are no security risks!"  
"Are we there yet?" Valtaic sighed.  
"Considering we do not know the size of the facility, or even our destination," Fifebee said glumly, "probably not,"  
They four of them were still trapped in an underground Matrian installation. They still had no idea what the place was, or why it had been built. They also had no idea why somebody in Dreamland had tried to erase all trace of its existence while the Matrians were trying to conquer the sector with their mind-controlling SIDs, and no idea how a faction of Matrian rebels who wanted to return to the 'old ways' had found the place. All they did know was that the installation had been built by the Old Matrians and hidden away for close to two centuries. All the systems had been locked down; even Fifebee couldn't access the computer systems.  
They had escaped from the Matrian rebels by breaking into a sealed-off section of the installation. Valtaic had discovered the disguised force fields leading into the 'secret' areas and Jeffery had dropped the force fields long enough for them to get in, leaving the Matrian rebels stuck between themselves and the only known exit.  
They'd expected to find whatever secret was hidden in the underground installation, whether it was a weapon, secret information or even treasure. What they hadn't expected to find was what seemed like miles of corridor. After getting into the hidden areas they'd taken a right turn, in an effort to find the boundaries of the place. Instead, they'd been following the same corridor for nearly an hour, slowly creeping past cross corridors and trying every door they found, even though they all seemed to be locked.  
As they moved past another deserted cross corridor, T'Parief crept in front of Jeffery again, scanning the area with his stolen Matrian weapon.  
"Cut it out!" Jeffery hissed, pushing in front of him again.  
"If I have a greater desire to die honourably than you, then that is my business!" T'Parief hissed, "You should be in the back, where it is safe,"  
"Stop fighting," Valtaic said firmly, "You both sound like infants!"  
"You realize the further we go into this place, the less likely it is that a rescue team from Silverado will find us," Fifebee said.  
"Ah know," Jeffery said, "But if they take out the Matrian rebels, they'll tell our people that we escaped. Our whole mission is to find out what this place is!"  
"If we had headed to the interior of the base, rather than trying to seek out its boundaries, we may have completed that task by now," Valtaic said.  
"Aye, thank ye for the 20/20 hindsight," Jeffery said. Ahead of him, he could finally see that the corridor ended in a heavy pair of double doors, "Look! Finally!"  
He rushed ahead, eager to find out what was there. T'Parief bounded ahead of him, claws extended. The two of them squabbled for several moments as Fifebee and Valtaic caught up. Finally, T'Parief agreed to cover Jeffery as the latter opened the doors.  
"What the…"  
Blinking, Jeffery walked into the room. It was a transit hub, identical to the one they'd left an hour earlier.  
"Did we go all the way around?" he asked.  
"No," Fifebee said, "By my measurements, we have gone in an arc, only a fraction of the circumference of a circle,"  
"So what does that mean?"  
"Follow me," Fifebee said. She turned and passed through a security checkpoint, identical to the one they'd found earlier. She continued walking down the corridor.  
"This is where I found the forcefield in the other section of the installation," Valtaic said suddenly. Sure enough, an array of forcefield emitters ringed that section of the corridor.  
"But this section isn't sealed off," Fifebee said, "Interesting,"  
The four of them continued to walk through the corridors, the layout completely identical to the area around the hanger bay they'd originally found. Using her internal mapping system, Fifebee led the way.  
"This has interesting implications," she said. She'd led them into a control room, identical to the one in which she'd been forced to work for the Matrian rebels.  
And it overlooked an identical hanger bay. Except this one had ships in it. 4 Old Matrian attack ships, nearly identical to the ships Silverado had encountered on her first mission to Matrian space.  
"Holy crap!" Jeffery exclaimed.  
"Impressive," Valtaic said.  
"More than that," Fifebee said, "We have traveled only part of the circumference of a circle. If this installation occupies a full circle-"  
"Then there are MORE hangers?" Jeffery gasps, "But, Ah mean, it was a pretty long walk just to get here! If this is only the second hanger, than this place must be-"  
"Approximately two miles in diameter," Fifebee said.  
"Holy crap!" Jeffery said again.  
"This workstation is not locked like the other one," Fifebee said, examining the control panel,"  
"Can ye find anything?"  
Fifebee tapped away for several moments. As she did so, T'Parief and Valtaic moved down into the hanger to investigate the ships.  
"Access is very, very limited. It appears this entire installation was placed in a state of lockdown prior to being abandoned. I have some access to external sensors and communications, but all other systems are locked."  
"Communications?"  
Fifebee tapped a button. Behind Jeffery, a supply cabinet unlocked. Inside, he found several Matrian devices. He picked up a small round object with six small indents around its edge.  
"Comm-badge?" he asked Fifebee.  
"I believe so," she said, "One moment, I will see if I can program it to interface with Starfleet systems. After several moments of tapping, she nodded at Jeffery.  
"Jeffery to Stafford," he said.  
"Simon!" Stafford's voice came back immediately. The interference they'd encountered earlier was gone, probably because they were now using the installation's comm systems, "Holy S**t! Are you OK? What's going on?"  
"We found a group of Matrian rebels in this place," Jeffery said, "They took us prisoner, but Valtaic broke us out,"  
"Really? Our money was on T'Parief. Good show for the new guy, huh?"  
"Chris, Ah got so much to tell ye," Jeffery said, "This place, it's huge! We dunno what it was for, but-"  
"Simon," Stafford cut him off, "Unless it's capable of defending this planet, it's going to have to wait. We have Qu'Eh attack ships on the way. Jall's getting Silverado ready to go, but he could use your help!"  
"Jall?" Jeffery asked, "Why aren't ye-"  
"Long story," Stafford said darkly, "Let's just say I've been drafted. Look, can you guys get far enough from that interference for the transporters to get a lock?"  
Fifebee shook her head.  
"According to these readings, this part of the installation is underground," she said, "And the rebel Matrians are blocking the entrance we used,"  
"No we can't," Jeffery told Stafford, "And Ah guess these ships we found aren't much good then either,"  
"Ships?"  
Jeffery filled him in.  
"Crap," Stafford said, "We could use those. Any chance of getting the hanger doors clear?"  
"None," Fifebee said, speaking into Jeffery's badge, "However, given what we have found so far, I think we should continue our explorations. We may find something that will help. I believe this place was built as a bunker, a place to hide out for an extended time. Perhaps this is where the Matrian women planned on staying prior to the discovery of the Spatial Interphase Devices and Dreamland-"  
"It's a long shot," Stafford said, "But we need any long shot we can get. I just hope the evening crew can take care of my ship without you four,"  
"I believe," Fifebee said, "that our concerns at the moment are much bigger than the welfare of a single ship,"  
"You're right," Stafford said, sounding a bit sad, "Good luck. Stafford out."

After signing off, Stafford allowed himself a moment to lean back in his plush, leather chair, flooded with relief. (Which at least caused the stupid stress monitor to stop beeping.) He quickly contacted Jall and updated him on the situation.  
"Huh," his first officer mused, "So whatever it is the Old Matrians hid down there, it's big, huh?"  
"I guess," Stafford shrugged, "Fifebee figures it was a bunker of some kind. Makes sense,"  
"Could make a good place to hide, if the fight doesn't go well," Jall said.  
"Speaking of which," Stafford started.  
"You want all the civilians and non-essential personnel beamed down to the planet?"  
"As soon as possible," Stafford nodded, "I've already spoken to some people here. Remember the stadium we used for the Sports Competition?"  
"Yup. We'll start beaming people down there right now."  
"How about those other preparations we discussed?" Stafford asked.  
"I spoke with Admiral Tunny," Jall replied, "He's contacting Waystation to make the arrangements."  
"Thanks, Jall," Stafford stood, "I have a meeting with the Defence Council shortly. I'll contact you as soon as I can,"  
"Ten four, oh mighty Minister of Power!" Jall smirked, closing the channel.  
As the half-Trill's image faded, Stafford grabbed his padds and stepped out of the lavish office he'd been given in the Matrian Defence Headquarters. Jall would take care of getting as many of his crewmembers to the relative safety of the planet, he mused to himself, and most of his second-string officers knew what they were doing.  
Stafford smirked, shaking his head as he contemplated just how bizarre it was that he was trusting Jall, of all people, with the safety of his ship and crew. Once the real crisis had started, their seemly endless fighting and bickering had vanished, replaced by a working relationship that was almost scaring Stafford. The whole thing seemed unthinkable…and Stafford knew that if Sylvia were awake, she'd give him one of those motherly smirks and say something like 'Chris, I knew you two would learn to work together sooner or later. How about some apple pie?'  
The thought of Sylvia quickly brought his musings back to reality. Maybe part of the reason why he found it easy to trust Jall with his ship was because the stakes were so much higher now. Matria was a Federation planet in all but name. He had the Commemorative Federation China packed away in his quarters, to be presented to Queen Anselia at the membership ceremony. In the two years since their Reawakening, the Matrians had worked hard to bring themselves in line with the reality of the galaxy, and Ambassador Owens had spent over two years working with Anselia and the Council of Governors to establish relations with the planet. Hell, between helping with cultural research and holding their little sports events, Silvereado had been working hard to build connections with the Matrian people, to show them that even though they had once been enemies, they were now on the same team. And the Matrian people had, on the most part, shown the same effort.  
There was no way Stafford was going to let all those efforts go to waste.

The Matrian Defence Council, half a dozen Matrian Governors and Governernesses, sat facing him in a semi-circle. Perfectly balanced between men and women, the council's job was to ensure that Matrian space was properly defended. With the current condition of the Matrian star fleet, it was no wonder that their jobs had been very difficult. The council members were tired. They'd been working hard for two years to establish a defence force, a task made much more difficult due to the damage Silverado had done to their fleet years before, under Stafford's command.  
"Um, hi everybody." Stafford said, smiling weakly, "I'm a bit new at this, so you'll excuse me if I don't know what the hell I'm doing."  
None of the Council members spoke, nor did they appear to be amused. OK, fine. He was expecting a bit of animosity, especially because he'd practically been rammed down their throat by Queen Anselia.  
BEEP!  
Hell, he was pretty pissed off at that on his own.  
"OK, look," he said, leaning forward on his hands, "I don't know why the hell I'm here. I'm a starship captain, not a Minister. But right now my mission is to help you defend your planet from this attack, after which I'll happily go back to my ship, and some other Matrian can be your Defence Minister. OK?"  
"This one is…childish," one of the council members said to the other.  
"But not unattractive," the second added.  
"OK, what do we have to work with?" Stafford asked, choosing to ignore the comments, "We have Senousian cruisers on the way, along with some fighters. We have Silverado, but our shield and weapon power is low after we lost our warp core. There's, what, a dozen Matrian cruisers? A couple dozen scouts? Patrol craft? Hover-limos?"  
"Yes, that is about right," one council member said, nodding, "Of course, our technology is barely on par with the Qu'Eh,"  
"About that," Stafford said, "My science officer informs that Old Matronian technology was easily on par with what we have in the Federation, but the ships we encountered two years ago weren't. Any idea what happened there?"  
"We put brainwashed men in charge of our ship-building for a hundred years, what do you think happened?" one of the female Matrians said. The men at the table shot her dark looks.  
"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean for that to sound sexist."  
"Oh, I'm sure," one of the males shot back.  
"Well if YOU were brainwashed, you'd have a hard time working with advanced technology!" she said defensively.  
"I WAS brainwashed!"  
Stafford chuckled, suddenly feeling a bit better.  
"And what do you think is so funny?" the woman demanded.  
"You just remind me of…somebody," he said, "Look, buddy, relax," he turned to the Matrian male, "She's right. It doesn't matter what gender you are, if your brain is a bit screwed up, you're not going to do your best work." He turned back to the table, "So what else do we have to work with?"  
"We also have the defence satellites we've been building," another member put in, "The network isn't finished, but the satellites we have might help,"  
"How long to activate them?" Stafford asked.  
"A day or two,"  
"We don't have that kind of time!" Stafford said.  
"We could activate as many as possible, then spread them a bit thin," one council member suggested.  
"Hmmm, no," Stafford said, "That will just make it easier for the Qu'Eh to pick them off. What you really wanna do is cluster them together, so their combined firepower can take out enemy ships before they have a chance to do any damage,"  
The council stared at him for a moment, then broke out in excited chatter.  
Geez, Stafford mused to himself, they taught us that at the Academy in Basic Tactics.  
"We have a number of fighter craft in storage in the city of Theodorus," another councillor mentioned.  
"Starfighters?" Stafford said, looking surprised, "I don't remember fighting those the last time we were here!"  
"We never deployed them," the minister shrugged, "I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, you understand, but I believe we decided that they would not be able to do any significant damage to a starship,"  
"No, no, no!" Stafford exclaimed, "I mean, you're right, they usually can't, but do you know how much of a pain they are? They distract your enemy, and any firepower he commits to taking out your fighters is firepower he can't use against your cruisers! Let's get those babies going!"  
The Matrians stared at him.  
"Fighters," he told them, "I meant get the fighters going!"  
"Oh,"  
"Speaking of space and fighters, where's Admiral Verethi? If she's in charge of your military, shouldn't she be here?" Stafford asked.  
"She is occupied," one of the council members told him, "Let us move on to the matter of planetary weapons emplacements,"  
And so it went on, back and forth, as the council attempted to hammer out a strategy to defend their planet. The scary thing, Stafford started to realize, was that the Matrians really did need him more than Silverado did.  
At the moment, anyway.  
BEEP! BEEP!

"Captain on the bridge," Ensign Burke called out as Jall stepped onto Silverado's bridge.  
"Burke, when did you become an insufferable suck-up?" Jall asked with a grin.  
"Since I cared about my career, sir," Burke replied.  
"Keep up the good work," Jall nodded, settling into Stafford's chair.  
"Hmph,"  
Jall looked around for the source of the apparent discontent. I didn't take long; Yanick had turned around in her seat and was glaring at him.  
"What?" Jall asked, "Anselia put me in command."  
"She can't do that," Yanick said, "She's not a member of Starfleet."  
"Trish," Jall said, "She needs Stafford down there, for whatever reason. That means until this crisis is over, I'm in charge,"  
"Yeah," Yanick said, "But you're not the captain."  
"C'mon, Trish," Jall laughed, "Don't take this so seriously!"  
"Chris is captain of this ship!" Yanick said sharply, "And there's more to being captain than just being in command!"  
With that, she turned angrily back to face her console.  
Jall remained in Stafford's seat, looking around the bridge. He wouldn't have noticed it before, but after Yanick's little outburst, he could now see that some members of the bridge crew were sneaking small, angry glances in his direction. Was it actually possible that some of thought the same way Yanick did? Stafford was still captain of Silverado, true. But if he managed to get keep Matria Prime safe in the upcoming battle, Jall doubted that Anselia would let him out of his new job easily. As the leader of a soon-to-be Federation member planet, she'd carry a good bit of weight with Starfleet, maybe even enough to make Stafford's new assignment permanent, leaving him as the logical successor to Silverado's command chair.. Apparently though, some crew members weren't as pleased about such a prospect as Jall would have thought.  
Softly clearing his throat, he stood, leaving Stafford's chair empty as he returned to his own.  
OK, so he wasn't the captain. But he was in command. Silverado was his responsibility.  
For the moment.

Fifebee, Valtaic, Jeffery and T'Parief stood in the transit hub near the second hanger bay.  
"So the question," Jeffery said, "is where do we go from here?"  
"I suggest we attempt to find the main control facilities for this installation," T'Parief said at once.  
"I disagree," Fifebee said, "We need to determine the purpose and capabilities of this installation as soon as possible. If something here can help defend the planet, we need to know it. Plus, we need to find food and a place to sleep,"  
"Why do you care about such things?" Valtaic asked, "You need neither food nor sleep,"  
"Now, sweetie," Fifebee smiled, "I don't, but you boys do,"  
Something nagged at the back of Jeffery's mind. Before he could think further on it, Valtaic spoke again.  
"Your concern for us is…appreciated," he said, searching for the human pleasantry, "But I believe our priority should be to wrest control of the entrance hanger from the Matrian rebels. This place is obviously a place of power, and should be under Starfleet control,"  
"But it is Matrian property," Fifebee pointed out.  
"Then it should be under the control of the Matrian Defence Force, which is soon to be absorbed into Starfleet anyway," T'Parief said, "Not a pack of rebels."  
"All good points," Jeffery said, "But I agree with T'Parief. Maybe if we find the control room, Fifebee can get into the computers and find out everything we need to know,"  
"Indeed,"' Fifebee inclined her head, "And perhaps undomesticated swine will fly out of my rectal cavity,"  
"Is this a function of your program I am unfamiliar with," Valtaic asked, "Or merely a strange human expression,"  
"In her case, ye can never know," Jeffery said darkly.

The four officers boarded the small tram in the transit hub. Bullet-shaped, the tram appeared to be designed to hold about a dozen people. Large windows dominated the upper half of the vehicle. The comfortable, leather-like seats hadn't appeared to have deteriorated at all over the years. As the four officers sat, small control panels in the right armrests came to life.  
"Ah don't read Matrian," Jeffery complained, tapping at his tricorder.  
"I do," Fifebee said, "it says 'Please Select Destination,'  
"I could have told you that," Valtaic said bluntly.  
"Uh, Operations, please?" Jeffery said loudly, assuming the tram functioned somewhat like a turbolift.  
Nothing happened.  
"Control room? Control booth? Office of the Big Cheese?" he tried.  
"Presumably, you need to speak Matrian," Valtaic said.  
"But our Universal Translators….oh," Jeffery gulped, realizing that their translators had been confiscated, "Hey, I didn't know you guys spoke Standard,"  
"Your language is simple and primitive," Valtaic said, "Much like your sexual habits,"  
"HEY!"  
"Standard was selected as the predominant Federation language specifically because it is simple," Fifebee informed him.  
"I see,"  
"Can we get this thing moving?" T'Parief demanded, impatient.  
"Gleconum Derunari," Fifebee said. She turned to the others, "That means 'Control Room' in Matrian, dears,"  
Jeffery had a momentary sense of déjà vu. Something about Fifebee was really starting to bug him…but what?  
The tram still didn't move.  
"Maybe we have to use the actual panels," Valtaic suggested.  
Fifebee tapped at the panel.  
"It will not show me a directory," she complained, "that would have at least given me a hint as to what our choices were!" she continued tapping.  
Suddenly, the tram lurched forwards.  
"What did ye do?" Jeffery demanded.  
"I believe I have instructed the tram to take us to the center of this installation," Fifebee said, "Logically, that is where the control center should be,"  
"Assuming Matrians build their underground installations the same way we do," Jeffery said.  
"No," Fifebee said, "I have been studying what information we have on the Matrians for months now. You will recall that the layout of their suspended animation chamber and Dream Nexus placed the control center at the center of the chamber. There is no uncertainty about it,"  
"If ye say so,"  
The tram had glided into the tunnel at the far end of the transit hub and was picking up speed now. Looking out the windows, Jeffery could see the tunnel walls as they sped by. Dimly illuminated by the lights inside the tram, Jeffery could see antigravity guides, presumably keeping the tram perfectly centered in the tunnel.  
"I believe the tunnel opens up ahead," Fifebee said that.  
"How can ye tell?" Jeffery asked.  
Before she could answer, the tunnel walls fell away, revealing…  
Total blackness.  
"Whot the hell?" Jeffery demanded.  
"It's very…dark…" T'Parief observed.  
"Well, we ARE underground," Fifebee pointed out, "According to my internal mapping systems, we are deep under the mountain we observed on the surface. A zero light level is to be expected!"  
"Are ye getting anything on infrared?" Jeffery asked.  
Fifebee was silent for a moment.  
"Unfortunately not," she said, "Presumably, the temperature differentials of whatever is outside the tram are too slight to properly register. Also, whatever is interfering with our tricorders is also disrupting my other non-standard imaging systems."  
"Well bollocks!"

"We haven't used this room in some time," Stafford's assistant, a young Matrian woman named Feli was saying. The various members of the Matrian Defence Council had gone their separate ways, rushing to put into practice the plans and ideas they'd come up with. Stafford was still feeling a bit dazed; he was having a hard time believing the meeting had actually progressed the way it had. He knew he wasn't the best Captain in Starfleet…if he was, he and his crew wouldn't have been jerked around, sent out of sight, cheaply used for public relations and made to work like uneducated high-school students when they visited a certain starbase. But he was still a captain…and here were people that actually needed his expertise. Maybe Picard or Sisko or somebody could have done a better job, he mused, but all the Matrians were getting was Christopher Stafford. And that would just have to do.  
"Why not?" Stafford asked, bringing his attention back to the conversation.  
"We haven't had any real need for it since the Reawakening, "Feli shrugged, "Things had been quiet, until the Qu'Eh attacked."  
"But what about defence?" Stafford pressed, "Monitoring? Readiness?"  
"Well, I guess you're just going to have to set something up," Fedi said, tapping a panel next to the broad set of double doors they were standing in front of. The Matrian Defence Headquarters building was another example of Matrian government architecture. The floors were polished marble; the walls were some sort of deep maroon wood. Smooth columns and pillars lined the walls and elaborate chandeliers hung from the gracefully arched ceilings. While a beautifully crafted staircase wound its way from the lower levels of the building all the way to the roof, Stafford and Fedi had used a turbolift to descend deep beneath the building to the Matrian War Room.  
The doors hissed open and Stafford stepped into an airlock-like antechamber. Fedi followed. Finally, the inner doors opened. The six-sided chamber was large, with a curving domed ceiling. The outer rim was lined with workstations, at which uniformed Matrians were diligently working. Six slender walkways led up to an elevated platform. Six more control panels lined the rim of the platform, while the center was dominated by a broad, circular table. A holographic image of Matria Prime was projected above the table, with small holograms representing the various objects in orbit.  
"Wow," Stafford commented.  
"I'll make sure your lower office is ready," Fedi said, bowing as she turned and walked towards a door set into one side of the room.  
"I get another office?" Stafford asked, rather dumbly.  
"It's one of the perks of working 200 feet underground," a voice said from behind him, "that, and pretty secretaries,"  
"Assistant," Stafford corrected without turning around, "And I don't think Fedi was chosen for her looks.  
"Then you didn't notice that she has physical characters similar to the dozen or so Matrian women you slept with during the Sports Competition? I understand that Queen Anselia was most eager to be sure you had the best of the best,"  
BEEP! BEEP!  
"I stopped sleeping with random women!" Stafford snapped, spinning around, "and how the hell is it any of your business anyway?"  
He found himself facing yet another attractive Matrian woman. This one was dressed in the deep blue uniform of the Matrian Defense Force. Stafford was still fuzzy on the uniform insignia, but he recognized the woman immediately from her pictures. She was the Admiral commanding the Matrian Defence Forces. He'd been trying to meet with her for over a week!  
"I just wish our men were as easy to satisfy," she said snidely.  
"Admiral Verithi," Stafford nodded, "I was hoping I'd run into you. Well, maybe not hoping. But I need to talk to you,"  
"Is this where we talk about how bringing the MDF into Starfleet will 'help' our planet?" Verithi asked, hands on her hips, "About how abandoning our own traditions and working for you will make things 'better'?"  
Stafford noticed that several of the Matrians had stopped to stare at the two of them.  
"My office," he snapped, "We need to talk!"  
"Oh, of course, you big, strong man, you," Verithi snarled as she followed along.  
BEEP!

"I think we're here," T'Parief grumbled, "Wherever 'here' is,"  
"The tram is indeed slowing." Fifebee confirmed.  
"If ye say so," Jeffery mused. He was still staring out the window into the total blackness beyond. They'd been traveling for several minutes, and since exiting the tunnel, Jeffery had seen nothing but total blackness. Once in a while he thought he saw something passing by, dimly visible in the light from the tram, but he couldn't make anything out. As he looked ahead though, he could see in the tram's dim forward lights that the antigravity track they were following curved gently upward. T'Parief cocked his head.  
"We have entered another tunnel," he said.  
"How do ye-"  
"The sound of the air rushing over the tram's surface has changed," Fifebee explained, before Jeffery could even finish asking.  
"Oookay," He turned back to the window. Ahead of him, he finally saw lights. The tram was pulling into a large chamber, with antigravity tracks coming and going in what seemed like all directions. A huge column stood in the center of the cavernous chamber, stretching from floor to vaulted ceiling. On it, support brackets held over a dozen huge, blank displays. The track they were on merged onto a ring-shaped track that circled the column. Tracks merged with theirs, while even more tracks branched off. In the dim light, Jeffery could see that some of them went even deeper underground, while others remained on the same level. None that he could see seemed to go up, which at the moment was the direction Jeffery really would have preferred to go.  
"Ah think Ah'm getting claustrophobic," Jeffery gulped, suddenly having trouble catching his breath,"  
"Uh-oh," Valtiac sighed as Jeffery fell to his knees, wheezing. Fifebee was next to him immediately.  
"Breath, Simon!" she ordered, "Try not to think of the millions of tones of rock that are crushing down from above us!"  
Jeffery's eyes widened, his breath became even more laboured.  
"I do not believe that is helping," Valtaic said bluntly.  
Fifebee's eyes flickered for a moment.  
"Come on Simon," she said, her tone suddenly changing, "Deep breaths. Look out the window; we're in a wide, open space. This place has been here for hundreds of years, it's not going to collapse just because we are here. Deep breaths, sweetie. In, out. There you go…"  
Jeffery was slowly returning to normal. The colour came back into his cheeks and he rose unsteadily to his feet.  
"Thanks, Fifebee,"he said shakily.  
"Don't mention it, dear,"

The tram eased off the central ring-track and glided into an unloading area. The doors hissed open, and a ramp extended smoothly from the tram to the surface. The four officers stepped out, looking anxiously around them. Fifebee tapped at her Matrian scanner for several moments before sighing and tucking it back onto her belt. The interference here was even worse than before. It was a wonder that her holo-relay was still functioning.  
The lighting was still very dim, making Jeffery think of emergency lighting. That made sense, he mused, since the place was in lockdown mode. Squinting, he could see broad panels up on the cavernous ceiling that could be illumination panels. He could see shadows that could be doorways and long elevated balconies running along the curving walls. The main level they were walking on was turning into a maze of pathways, stairways and doors. Door after locked door. Symbols and squiqqles that could have been signs covered the walls and hung suspended from the ceiling.  
"This is clearly the heart of a large transit system," Fifebee said aloud.  
"Yes, I believe we all knew that already, thank you," Valtaic said.  
"I know you did," Fifebee shot back, "But I wanted to be sure we're all on the same page,"  
"As I keep telling your people, we are not standing on a book. We are all on the same underground pathway, however,"  
Deciding not to answer, Fifebee continued walking.  
"Were are we going now?" Jeffery asked, "Ah'm feeling totally lost,"  
"I am looking for a way up," Fifebee replied.  
"Oh, thank God," Jeffery sighed, "Ah'm about ready to get back above ground,"  
"That is not what I meant," Fifebee said, "Most races prefer to elevate their command areas. By applying basic trigonometry to the arc we traveled earlier and the distance we traveled in the tram, I have determined that we are now at the center of the installation,"  
"I believe the massive merger of antigravity tracks back there told us that," Valtaic added.  
"If you do not have something helpful to add, shut up," T'Parief growled.  
"I am attempting to demonstrate that trigonometry is in fact good for something useful," Fifebee said, "Now that we are at the center, we simply need to go up," she pointed at a symbol of several stick-figures in a box.  
"That appears to be the symbol for a turbolift or elevator." She said.  
"Lead the way," Jeffery sighed.

Stafford led Verithi through the same door Fedi had vanished through earlier. Seeing the look on his face, Fedi quickly scrambled out of the room. The office was more cramped and utilitarian than the one up on the 20th floor, and contained utilitarian sleeping accommodations. Clearly, the place had been built for major emergencies.  
"It's nice to finally meet you too," he said.  
"Likewise," Verithi said curtly.  
The two of them glared silently at each other. Stafford and Jall had been in contact with Verithi several times since their arrival in Matrian Space. Part of their mission to facilitate Matria Prime's membership in the Federation included preparing the Matrian Defence Forces for integration into Starfleet. Most Federation worlds kept their own ships and planetary defence forces, but contributing to Starfleet was a requirement for all member worlds. After all, if they wanted Starfleet to come to their rescue, it was only fair. Ambassador Owens and the Matrian government had come to an agreement: The Matrian Defence Force would be absorbed into Starfleet, Matrian shipyards would switch over to producing Starfleet vessels and Starfleet would provide ships to defend Matria Prime. The Matrians would have better ships defending them and Starfleet would have another source of personnel. It was a good deal all around.  
Verithi didn't agree. She felt that joining Starfleet would mean giving up the unique identity of the Matrian Defence Forces. Stafford and Jall had argued that first, the MDF had been made up of brainwashed men for over a century and, second, that they'd forgotten most of their identity. Verithi wasn't buying it. Communications between Verithi and Starfleet had been curt and to the point, and somehow she was had been busy every time Stafford or Jall had tried to meet with her.  
Now Stafford was bearding the lion in her den. Well, technically the office was his den, but it was her planet.  
"Do you really think this is the time for us to be arguing about this?" Stafford finally said.  
"Do you think this is the time for an outsider to come in and tell us how to defend our planet?" Verithi shot back.  
Stafford located what was hopefully his chair and sat. How would Noonan handle this, he wondered. His first officer had had a way with upset people, even without using his funky hypnosis. He'd asked Noonan about it more than once, during the countless meetings they'd had. Noonan had replied that the best thing to do when in the middle of an argument is to try and understand the other person's point of view. It was advice that Stafford had tried putting into practice on more than one occasion.  
"I can see why you'd say that," he said, thinking about what it would be like for him to be told that Starfleet was about to become part of the Klingon Empire, or something, "We were enemies, now we're working together. It's a big change. Not just for you,"  
"We don't seem to be working together," Verithi said, "It seems like we're working for you,"  
BEEP!  
"Oh yeah?" Staffored shot back, "Well it seems to me that we're the ones risking our lives to help you defend your planet when we could just as easily leave!"  
"No, you couldn't!" Verethi said, "Your ship is stuck here!"  
BEEP!  
"It got that way helping you!"  
BEEP!  
"Your father wears army boots!"  
BEEP BEEP!  
"No, your mother wears army...wait," Stafford shook his head, "What?"  
"What possible reason could the Federation have for getting involved in our affairs like this unless they wanted control over us?" Verethi snapped, "What are you gaining otherwise?"  
"We got involved because YOU INVITED US!" Stafford shouted, "Now listen here, you immature little bitch! We had no intention of coming back here – EVER – until your people decided that joining the Federation would be a good idea. And now we're stuck here with an alien death fleet on the way, my ship is in bad shape, and I'm stuck on this planet playing Minister when I should be on the bridge of my ship telling Yanick to stop sticking peanuts up her nose!"  
BEE-ZZZZZTTTTTT!  
"What the-"  
"What was that?" Verethi demanded.  
Stafford looked at the stress monitor on his wrist. It appeared to have shorted out completely.  
"Huh," he mused, "I wonder if this thing's still under warranty?" He chuckled. His chuckle turned into a giggle, then a near uncontrollable laugh.  
"I'm sorry," he said to Verethi, forcing the words out between gasps of laughter "This has been such a crazy week! Evil aliens, blown up warp cores, hidden underground installations…and now I'm stuck as an idiot politician for the duration!"  
Verethi stared.  
"You didn't really stop to think about how this might be affecting us evil Starfleet folks, did you?" Stafford asked, still giggling, "We're hundreds of light-years from home, trying to defend the people who tried to kill us, kidnapped one of our crewmembers and made us play musical chairs with our bodies! The last thing we ever wanted to do was come back here, and now half of my senior staff is trapped in a bunker by a group of rebels and I've got Jall, of all people, running my ship!"  
He stood, and started walking back to the war room, shedding the destroyed stress monitor on the way.  
"I guess what the point I'm trying to make," he said, the giggles finally passing, "Is that we're here because your people want to become part of something bigger. And we're risking our lives to help you, because that's what the Federation does. Since we arrived, the rest of your people have been working to learn about us while you, Ms. Admiral, have avoided us completely. Your people are choosing to become part of the Federation, and if you don't like it, you can go f**k yourself!"  
He left, leaving Verethi alone in the office.  
"Hmm," Verethi mused, "Mother was right. It's never pleasant watching somebody go completely to pieces,"

Deep underground, the away team was making little progress.  
"Are ye sure the turbolifts are this way?" Jeffery was asking.  
"This is the direction indicated by the sign," Fifebee replied.  
"The sign could be wrong!" Jeffery shot back.  
Behind them, T'Parief and Valtaic exchanged a glance. It had been over day since they'd left Silverado, and the lack of food, sleep and hygiene was really starting to get to all four of them. Valtaic tried another door as they walked down the corridor Fifebee was leading them down. Locked. Or powerless. Either way, the door refused to slide open and tapping at the small panel next to it gave nothing but annoying beeps.  
"I find it unlikely that the Old Matrians could construct and underground installation of this complexity, yet fail to properly label it," Fifebee said frostily. Her behavioural subroutines were clearly also being effected by the prolonged mission.  
"Well, Ah haven't seen so much as a 'Ye Are Here' sign since we got here," Jeffery said.  
"Most races who speak Standard pronounce it 'You', not 'Ye'," Fifebee said.  
"Don't start raggin' on me, ye holographic-"  
"These doors are also locked," Valtaic stated loudly. He was learning that his perfectly ordinary habit of making blunt statements was great for defusing the Silverado crew's bickering.  
They had been following the same corridor that led out of the transit center for about 10 minutes. The doors were still locked, the lighting was still subdued and there was still not much to see other than corridor after corridor.  
"OH! OH!" T'Parief shouted, "This one opened!"  
There was a scramble as all four officers rushed to the door in question. It was a large, circular double door with six curved, triangular indentations around the edge. Set into the side of the corridor, it had hissed open the second T'Parief had pressed the door panel.  
"I don't think I've ever heard you sound that excited," Fifebee commented as she peered through the door.  
"I have been trapped down here with the three of you for over a day. I have been shot at, stunned, shot at again and chased deeper and deeper underground," T'Parief said, "The prospect of accomplishing our mission and leaving excites me in ways that are almost dirty,"  
"Uh, right,"

Stafford was leaning over one of the consoles ringing the central platform of the Matrian War Room.  
"Can you get a closer look at that fighter grouping?" Stafford was asking the tech.  
The Matrian frowned in concentration, tapping at the console. The holographic display in the center of the room spun dizzily, the came to a stop. Stafford stared.  
"Is that a…" he cocked his head.  
"It looks like my husband's-" the tech started.  
"Hey captain," Jall called, stepping into the room. He looked up at the display, "Hey, is that the Falic?"  
"Phallic? You would know better than I would," Stafford said.  
"No, no," Jall shook his head, "I meant the SFV Falic. One of the Senousian cruisers that joined us,"  
"Oh yeah. I forgot that the Senousians like building things that look like giant…parts,"  
"I brought your dress uniform," Jall said, "Well, I actually made Ensign Burke carry it since you told me to bring him down too, but it's the thought that counts."  
"Dress uniform?" Stafford asked.  
"It's almost time," Jall said.  
"Oh. Right,"  
"What are you doing looking at twisted porn in MY WAR ROOM!?" a shrill voice cried from the lower level.  
"Have you met Admiral Verethi?" Stafford asked tiredly.  
"OH! Is this the Admiral that's been avoiding us since we-"  
"Yeah," Stafford sighed. He turned to Ensign Burke and grabbed his dress uniform, "Burke, see if you can help this poor girl figure out how the holo-imaging system works? When I step back into this room, I want to see the Matrian fighter formations, not the penis-shaped Senousian cruiser and not the mountain on Matria Prime's moon that looks like a boob!"  
"Aye, sir," Burke said sadly. He sat next to the pretty blond tech, "OK, let's see if there are any asteroids out there that look like-"  
"BURKE!"  
"Fighters, right,"  
"Admiral Verethi, this is Commander Jall," Stafford said, "He'll be commanding Silverado when the Qu'Eh attack."  
"Ah yes. The one that dumped Queen Anselia,"  
"I guess women on this planet gossip as much as on any other," Jall sighed. He looked at his watch, "Look, Captain, hurry up and change. We're going to be late!"  
Stafford gave Verethi a cold look.  
"I'll be ready in a minute," he disappeared into his office.  
Jall and Verethi stood in silence for a moment. Next to them, Burke and the Matrian tech cursed as the holo-display fizzled out.  
"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," Verethi said finally.  
"Likewise," Jall smiled politely.

They had finally found the turbolift.  
"See?" Fifebee asked, "You should have had more faith in me,"  
"Ah'll have faith in ye, once ye figure out how to activate it!" Jeffery said.  
Fifebee tapped at the panel for a moment. The lift hummed, then eased into motion. She turned to Jeffery expectantly.  
"Fine. I have faith in ye,"  
The turbolift, much like the tram, had curved windows that looked out into the turboshaft. Considering the turboshaft was nothing but blank panels lined with anti-grav rails, the view wasn't very impressive.  
"How far up are we going?" Jeffery asked.  
"Judging from the number of options on this panel, we are going up at least forty levels,"  
"FOURTY?" Jeffery's eyes widened.  
"Yes. I believe we will be quite close to the surface,"  
"But what-"  
Jeffery stopped talking as one side of the turboshaft abruptly fell away, revealing nothing but blackness.  
"More of this," T'Parief grumbled.  
"I still can't see anything," Fifebee said, squinting out through the transparent panels. As quickly as it had appeared, the darkness vanished, replaced again by turboshaft walls. The lift slowed, then stopped.  
As the doors hissed open, Jeffery, T'Parief and Valtaic all let out small gasps of amazement.  
"Ah think we found the control room!" Jeffery exclaimed.  
They stepped out of the turbolift into a large, curving room. Jeffery slowly turned, taking in the space. The turbolift they had taken was in the center of the room, set into a thick round column. As he slowly rounded the column, he saw other turbolifts as well…three in total, all facing outward. It reminded him a bit of the setup Waystation had. The entire chamber was sort of pod-shaped, making it feel like Jeffery was standing inside a giant M&M.  
Surrounding the central column was a ring-shaped floor of polished stone. Three evenly spaced stairways led up to another ring-shaped walkway, interrupted on one side by an enclosed office or meeting room. Between the stairways and below the walkway, six curving windows set into the lower curve of the pod looked out into total blackness. Above the walkway, the curving outer wall was covered with display screens. Most were completely dark, but some had dimly glowing images and symbols. Three more stairways, offset from the first three, led to the top of the central column. The top of the column was capped with a circular command deck. Six control panels ringed the command deck, in the center of which was a broad, black, circular table. If any of the away team members had been in the War Room beneath the Matrian Defence Headquarters, they would have found the setup of the central command deck to be somewhat familiar. Finally, above this top deck, six more transparent windows looked out into-  
"Rock?" Jeffery mused, looking up.  
"Or sand," Fifebee said, frowning. Her analytical subroutines were working in overdrive, "But in either case, this is clearly both the command center of this installation and most likely its highest point.  
"Really?" Valtaic asked, poking at one of the dead consoles, "then what is that beneath us?" he gestured at the pitch-black lower windows.  
"I suspect it is a cavern," Fifebee said.  
"Aye, of course!" Jeffery said, "It's obvious!"  
"If it is so obvious, why didn't you think of it?"  
"Because Ah was too busy having faith in ye!"  
"Please, explain," T'Parief interrupted.  
"The Matrians used an underground cavern to house their Dream Nexus and the hibernating females after the end of the Gender War," Fifebee said, "And this installation, which was built prior to that, is clearly also meant to be an underground bunker of some kind. Whereas the other cavern was built beneath the city of Matronus, this one was hidden beneath the desert."  
"So what's in the cavern out there?" Jeffery gestured at the windows.  
"We have no way of knowing." Fifebee shrugged, "I suspect this is simply a naturally-formed cavern that they used as a convenient place to build this installation. In which case, what we are looking for, the reason why it is here, is likely located somewhere in this central tower."  
"Ye mean we have even more searching to do?" Jeffery groaned.  
"Indeed,"

"Are you ready for this?" Jall asked.  
"Are you?" Stafford shot back.  
"I'm always ready to look sexy for the cameras," Jall grinned.  
"Ugh. Whatever happened to the good old days when we could just come in, blow things up, then leave? Why do we have to do all this political crap now?"  
"Because sometimes making things go bang isn't the end of the story," Jall said, "Sometimes you have to stay for breakfast. Whether you're hungry or not,"  
"Let's do this," Stafford sighed.  
The two of them stepped out into the Matrian Council Chamber. The dais on which the King and Queen normally sat had been altered: the thrones had been removed and a simple but elegant table setup. The screen dominating the rear wall was displaying the Federation logo. Every Governor and Governess was in attendance, filling all the seats normally filled. Those that were typically empty due to the Republic's population drop were filled with high ranking functionaries, news correspondents and the crème de la crème of Matrian society. Smiling at the crowd, Stafford and Jeffery joined Queen Anselia and King Hektor on the dais. Lieutenant Yanick was off to one side, a comm-headset plugged into her ear. Several other Silverado crewmembers were packed into the crowded observation gallery.  
"Your Majesty," Stafford greeted Anselia.  
"Captain," she nodded regally.  
"Ready to do this?"  
"Yes,"  
"Then let's get this show on the road,"  
Anselia stepped forward, then tapped a button on the table. A chime rang out through the room. In the inset podium beneath the center dais, the Speaker rapped his gavel.  
"This session of the Matrian Council of Governor's will come to order," he said, his voice ringing through the chamber, "The floor recognizes Queen Anselia, elected leader of the Matrian Republic,"  
"Ladies and gentlemen, gentlemen and ladies," Anselia started, the double introduction meant to symbolize that neither gender should come before the other. (they switched the order of the two phrases as well every second week.)  
As Anselia spoke, a voice chimed in Yanick's ear. It was Ensign Bith, up on Silverado.  
"Ensign Yanick, we're receiving a transmission through the relay,"  
"Send it through," Yanick said softly. A soft been indicated the incoming transmission.  
"Thank you for calling Matria Prime, despot-free for over two years! You've reached Lieutenant Yanick, how may we assist you?"  
"I'm ready, Lieutenant," the voice said.  
"Of course, sir. One sec," she stepped over and tapped Stafford's arm. Stafford turned to Anselia as she finished her speech. She in turn pressed another button, signalling the Speaker.  
"The floor now recognizes President Bradley Dillon, elected leader of the United Federation of Planets,"  
"One second," Yanick said, "I'm still trying to figure out this big TV of yours," she fiddled with a control device, "Input…subspace video…output…audio, transfer…fluffy bunny Foo-Foo…"  
The huge viewscreen flickered, showing President Dillon, back in his office on Waystation and seated behind his desk.  
"Queen Anselia, Mister Speaker, people of the Matrian Republic. It brings me great please to join you for this auspicious occasion,"  
"Thank you, Mr. President," Anseila nodded. She turned, and picked up a padd from the table, "On the matter of Federation membership, including all rights, privileges, obligations and agreements, the Matrian Council of Governors has voted as follows," she paused, looking out at the sea of politicians, Starfleet officers, reporters and camera lenses. Her words were being broadcast across her planet, to Silverado and through the Matrian Sector subspace relay to worlds and peoples her small Republic couldn't even conceive of.  
"To accept the terms of Federation membership," she said, "Against: Seventy three votes. In favor: two hundred and thirty-three. The motion passes."  
There was a round of applause as both Stafford and Anselia stepped forward. On the table, printed on actual paper, were the terms of Federation membership. Picking up an ornate pen, Anslia signed her name. Stafford followed.  
"As President of the United Federation of Planets," Dillon boomed from the display, "It gives me great pleasure to welcome the Matrian Republic to the galactic community. Rest assured, your people will enjoy the full benefits of Federation membership. At this very moment, four starships are en route to Matria Prime to help against the Qu'Eh threat. They may not arrive in time to help with this battle, but they will help with the next. And any following, until every Federation citizen on Matria Prime can rest assured that their world is safe and secure."  
"Well, that's that," Stafford said to Jall as the room broke out again in applause.  
"Yup." Jall nodded, "Now for the hard part."

End

Next: The Battle for Matria sees Stafford stuck on the planet, Jall in command of Silverado and Jeffery/Valtaic/Fifebee/T'Parief exploring whatever the heck it is that the Old Matrians hid under the desert. How will the crew hold up? Are the Qu'Eh as nasty as everybody things they are? Just what the hell is that underground thingy? Some answers and even more questions coming in Silverado 4.14: Poisoned Pawns.


	14. Poisoned Pawns

Star Traks: Silverado

4.14 "Poisoned Pawns"

Admiral Edward Tunney stepped into the Operations Center of Starbase 45. He usually tried to avoid the place, as every time he stepped out of the turbolift some junior functionary would shout 'Admiral on the Bridge!', thus disrupting everybody's work routine and royally getting on Tunney's nerves. The starbase didn't even have a bridge! It had an operations center! After that, Captain Brown would come rushing out of his office to greet him, offer him a coffee and start chatting about pointless starbase business. In the end, it would take about an hour for him to accomplish a task that would take less than 10 minutes if he'd simply called up over the comm system.  
But today was a bit different. As he stepped into Operations, the senior staff was watching the huge viewscreen that dominated the far wall of the multi-level command complex. On it, a shaky view of a large, marble-columned building was on display. Reporters were crowded around the entrance, which was just opening and disgorging a stream of politicians. Tunney was only slightly surprised to see several white Starfleet dress uniforms mixed in.  
"And so time will tell whether or not Federation membership will be a burden or a blessing," a narrating voice said, "But one way or another, the Matrian Council of Governors, in an emergency session late yesterday, approved Matria Prime's membership in the United Federation of Planets. Federation President Dillon himself welcomed all Matrians to the interstellar community, while promising aid against the Qu'Eh. Whether or not that aid can be counted on remains to be seen,"  
"Admiral on the bridge!" a junior officer cried out, spotting Tunney out of the corner of one eye. Tunney sighed.  
"Admiral!" Captain Brown greeted him, the shorter (much shorter) man gesturing at the screen, "We were just watching the feed from the Matrian Sector relay,"  
"I guessed," Tunney said dryly, "What's the status on the ship movements I ordered?"  
"Four ships, just like President Dillon promised," Brown replied, "The Montreal, the Vendome, the Elfman and the Stallion departed for Waystation this morning,"  
Tunney frowned.  
"Those are all Operation Salvage ships," he said, "I thought I'd requested at least one Sovereign-class ship!"  
"Fleet Admiral Ra'al turned that request down,"  
"Shit!" Tunney fumed. He had no idea what he'd done to annoy that woman, but she'd been an unholy bitch when it came to any requests he made involving Operation Salvage.  
"We could send the USS Champlain," Brown suggested. The Champlain was a 90 year-old Proxima-class vessel. Back in the day, it had been classified as a battleship. Now…  
"Our President just promised those people that help was on the way," Tunney fumed, "And that's the best we can do?"  
Brown shrugged.  
"Beggers can't be choosers,"  
Tunney glared at him.  
"The Federation is supposed to take care of its members, regardless of who they are or why they joined," he said sharply, "That's what we do!"  
They stared at the screen for a few more moments, where Lieutenant Yanick was being introduced as Starfleet's Public Relations Officer for Matria Prime.  
"Lieutenant," one reporter was asking, "What's the first thing you plan to do to improve Matrian/Federation relations? Do you think the upcoming battle will be a problem?"  
"First, I'm going to paint my office yellow," Yanick giggled, "As for the battle…well…we creamed you guys the first time. I'm sure we'll do OK against the Qu'Eh,"  
"I thought part of the reason you sent those guys out there was to get them out of the media?" Brown asked as Tunney started rubbing his temples.  
"It was. But who would have guessed that Stafford would be stupid enough to get his crew involved in planetary politics?"  
"Doesn't sound like he had much choice,"  
"No," Tunney sighed, "I suppose not. And that's the worst part. I should have expected this,"  
"Well, sir, look on the bright side," Brown offered, "Maybe they'll fight off the Qu'Eh and things out there will get nice and boring,"  
"Yeah," Tunney said, watching as the Matrian news reporters starting tallying up how many Qu'Eh ships were coming vs. the number of Matrian and Senousian ships available, "And maybe the Qu'Eh commander will dance around my office in a pink tutu." He sighed again.  
"Send the Champlain," he said, "And the Haldimand. And any other ships we can spare."  
"It's going to take them over a month to get them to Matrian space,"  
"I know. But after Silverado gets blown to pieces, somebody has to go bring back the bodies…" he looked around nervously, the swallowed, "er, I meant 'survivors' ."

Matria Prime:

"Ohhh! My very own office! I'm so excited!" Lieutenant Trish Yanick giggled, skipping merrily along next to Stafford as he walked quickly through the halls of the Matrian Defence Headquarters.  
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Stafford said, "Hopefully, it won't last long,"  
"What? Why? You don't think I'll do good?" Now Yanick was looking hurt.  
"No, it's not that," Stafford said. He suddenly became aware of the large number of Matrian officials surrounding them, "Come on,"  
He pulled her into his own office, waving at his guard, a Starfleet security officer, and closing the door firmly.  
"Trish, you see what's happening here, right?" he demanded.  
"Sure," Yanick said, hopping into the guest chair and giving a sound of delight upon discovering that it spun around on its base, "It's like we got promoted! Only we didn't. And Jall has to go fight the Qu'Eh guys, but T'Parief doesn't get to fire the weapons cuz he's stuck underground. He's going to pissed about that!"  
"No, it's not like we got promoted!" Stafford snapped, a bit more harshly than he meant.  
"Why not?" Yanick asked, spinning around now in the chair, "Aren't you, like, in charge of the whole Matrian Defence Force now?"  
Stafford sat.  
"Well, yeah. But that's not a good thing! Don't you get it?"  
Yanick continued spinning.  
"If things go wrong, it means that the Matrian government can pin it all on me!" he went on, "And I don't want to be here! I don't want to be stuck in some room on some planet while my ship and crew is up there fighting!"  
"Whhheeeeee!"  
"Yanick, are you even listening to me?"  
Yanick spun to a stop.  
"Yeah," she said, "You're feeling left out and lonely. Is that why you assigned me here?"  
Stafford's mind did a little flip. How the hell could Yanick be so blond and oblivious about the most obvious of things, then suddenly turn around and say something insightful?  
"Maybe," he replied, "But mostly because Queen Anselia, Admiral Verethi and I all have the press on our backs and we need somebody to be the liaison. For the moment, that's you."  
"Uh huh," Yanick said, "And Ensign Burke?"  
"He's needed in the War Room. He's better with the kind of space sensor technology that the Matrians are using to track the battle than they are. Even though the frickin' Matrians built the damned things."  
"And the Hazardous Team?"  
"They're preparing the Matrian forces for ground assault. Such as they are."  
"And Ensign Naketh?"  
"Is working on getting the Matrian defensive satellites up and running!"  
"And all the civilians and non-essential personnel?"  
"Are better off on the planet,"  
"And the guy guarding your door-"  
"Trish," Stafford cut her off, "Are you going to go through every Silverado crewmen that I reassigned? Because we don't have time! The Qu-Eh are dropping out of warp in less than 3 hours!"  
"Chris, I'm just saying that so many people have been moved around that Silverado is starting to get a bit empty. No, make that a LOT empty! Do you really think that's is a good idea?"  
Stafford sighed.  
"What do you want me to do, Trish?" he asked, "I'm trying to do what's best for the whole planet here,"  
"Well, yeah," Yanick said, "But, I mean, it's like the crew's getting…broken up. Y'know?"  
"Yeah," Stafford said, eying the Matrian clock on one wall (which he still hadn't figured out how to read), "I know." Something started tugging at the corner of his mind. Yeah, Yanick was right. His crew was being split up, moved to where they would best fit. Some of them were still trapped, but safe, deep in an underground Matrian installation. He had to make sure that each person was in position to help out when the Qu'Eh arrived.  
"Yanick, go start…liasoning," he said suddenly, "I have something I have to do before I'm due in the war room,"

"OK, ladies, let's get a run-down. Get me caught up on all the up-and-up!" Commander San Jall ordered, seated in what was normally Stafford's chair. Lieutenant Travis Pye was manning the conn, Lieutenant J'Rar Day was at operations and Ensign Tabetha Bith was at tactical. Except for Burke, the entire second-string bridge crew had been suddenly pushed into Alpha shift, what with missing persons, reassignments and the general chaos.  
"Are you asking for a status report, or a gossip update?" Pye asked.  
"Well, mostly a status report," Jall said, "But if you know anything about that cute Lieutenant in the geology department, I'm all ears,"  
"Another Matrian cruiser is just dropping out of warp," Lieutenant Commander Quintaine reported, having temporarily taken over sciences.  
"Oh, goody," Jall said, "So far, that brings us to a grand total of 23 scout ships, 9 Matrian cruisers, 6 fighter squadrons,"  
"Fiiiive quantum torpedos!" Pye suddenly sang out.  
"Four phaser banks," Day sang.  
"Three shuttlecraft," Quintaine added.  
"Two runabouts,"  
"And a starship without a warp core!" everybody sang out together.  
There was silence for a moment as everybody exchanged confused looks.  
"Was that a moment of collective good cheer, or are we about to have another adventure involving mind-control?" Jall asked calmly.  
"Let's all hope for the former," Day noted.

Ensign Pysternzyks ran his hands over the transporter controls, sliding the light bars up. As he did so, Stafford materialized on the pad.  
"Ensign," he said warmly, "It's so good to see you! I could just…cut your head off and kick it around the room right now!"  
"Captain," Pysternzyks bowed, "It would be an honour to die by your hand,"  
"Good stuff, good stuff," Stafford grinned as he stepped into the corridor. Ahh, Andorians were good people. You just had to know how to talk to them. He hopped into a turbolift, surprised at how good it felt to get away from the Matrian government complex, even for a few minutes.  
"Stafford to Jall,"  
"Jall is on the line, it's time to sing my rhyme, if I don't get-"  
"Jall, I need you to meet me in Sickbay in about 10 minutes," Stafford said.  
"Aren't you going to yell at me to stop singing first?"  
"Not really. I actually sort of missed you while I was on the planet. You know, in a professional kind of way,"  
"Huh. Weird. I'll be down shortly. Jall out."  
Chuckling, Stafford stepped off the lift, then turned into Sickbay.  
"Be with you in a minute," a voice called from the ICU. Stafford poked his head around the corner, only to see Dr. Wowryk and Nurse Veeneman operating on a patient. At least, he thought it was a patient. Most patients he'd seen didn't have half of their insides sitting next to them.  
"Uh, doc," he asked, "Is that person supposed to have his entrails on the medical cart?" His stomach turned as what looked like a liver slipped off the tray and fell to the floor with a loud 'PLOP!'  
"When the patient is dead? Yes," Wowryk said. She picked up a saw.  
"Doc, what are you-"  
Stafford winced as Wowryk promptly began sawing through the patient's skull.  
"For crying out-"  
"Doctor, just forget it. We'll do this again later," Veeneman sighed, "I have to get Sickbay prepped for battle anyway.  
"Very well. Computer, end program,"  
The body, entrails and tools vanished in a holographic fizzle.  
"I was teaching Nurse Veeneman how to do an old-fashioned autopsy," Wowryk explained, leading Stafford to her office, "She wants to get her advanced nursing qualification,"  
"I see," Stafford said, massaging his stomach, "Still, I don't think I'll be eating anytime soon.  
"What can I do for you?" Wowryk asked, taking a seat, "Tea?"  
"Uh…sure…" Stafford sat carefully. Something about Wowryk's super-nice attitude was starting to make him uncomfortable.  
"Are the Matrians well prepared for the coming attack?" she asked.  
"As much as they can be," Stafford shrugged.  
"Well, at least there aren't any space stations sitting around for them to blow up this time," Wowryk sighed.  
"Well, look on the bright side," Stafford said, "It it hadn't been blown up then, it definitely would get blown up this time!"  
Wowryk did not look amused.  
"If you're finished with the part of the conversation where you try to be funny, what can I do for you?" Wowryk was sounding more like her regular self now, much to Stafford's relief.  
"I have a…a job for you," Stafford said, "Something that I need you and only you to take care of,"  
"Yes, I thought as much. Blessing, consecration or exorcism?"  
"None of the above. I'm calling more on your talents as a Starfleet officer,"  
"Circumcision?" Wowryk started rummaging around in her desk, "Not exactly my specialty, but I think I have a pair of scissors in here,"  
"First officer,"  
Wowryk look up at him, her face turning white.  
"Excuse me?"  
"You know the Matrians are keeping me down on the planet," he said, "And Jall's running the ship right now. I need to make sure somebody's watching his back. I also want somebody who has a better understanding of the Matrians and their mindset. That's you,"  
"But…but…" Wowryk stammered, "I am a doctor!"  
"Call in the night shift guy," Stafford said, "I need you up on the bridge. Look on the bright side. It will piss the hell out of Jall,"  
"Chris," Wowryk said suddenly, "You…you know what happened the last time I was up there, right? It was a disaster!"  
"Nope," Stafford said, getting to his feet, "You ran the show. The Qu'Eh were pushed back and the ship survived. You did good. Now I need you to do it again,"  
"Hello, kids," the door hissed open and Jall poked his head in, "If you don't mind, we have a gruesome death coming up in about two hours, so can we make this quick?"  
"Sure," Stafford said, getting to his feet, "Wowryk's your new first officer. At least until all this blows over. Have fun!" he walked out the door.  
Jall looked at Wowryk for a moment, then shrugged.  
"Took him long enough. Come up to the bridge as soon as you're finished handing things over to Dr. Krenton. Gotta jet!"  
He turned to leave.  
"Hey!" Wowryk snapped, "This is supposed to be annoying you, you heathen!"  
"Oh, it's annoying me," Jall said, sashaying his way out of Sickbay, "But we're probably all going to die soon anyway. See you on the bridge, sweetie!" he blew her a kiss.  
"Ohhh! Wowryk exclaimed, "I hate that man!"

T'Parief sat on a stairway in the underground Matrian command center. There were six such stairways: Three leading from the central turbolift column and what had been quickly dubbed an 'observation gallery', up to the ring-shaped walkway that ran the outer circumference of the pod, interrupted on one side by what looked like an office. The other three led up from this outer walkway to an elevated command deck that sat atop the turbolift column. With only a few exceptions, the control panels in the command deck were dead, the displays lining the outer walkway were dark and six huge lower windows that Fifebee believed looked down into a cavern were pitch black. T'Parief had started by standing guard over the three turbolifts that appeared to be the only way in or out of the command center. Standing had led to pacing. Then to more standing. Then, after a few hours, he simply sat down and stared. Above him, Fifebee, Jeffery and Valtaic were all trying their own methods of tapping into the Matrian computers. Fifebee had seated herself at one of the few consoles that wasn't completely dead and had attempted to access the computer systems. Unfortunately, she'd found that access was as limited as it was in the smaller control booth they'd found in one of the buried hangers. Jeffery was halfway through dismantling another console, carefully examining each piece before setting it aside. Considering that he was doing this completely without tools, aside from a Matrian scanner that he needed Fifebee's help to translate, T'Parief rated his chances at success low. Valtaic had started examining every object in the room, starting from the top and working his way down. So far, he'd found an empty cup, an unidentifiable chunk of polymer and what he claimed were the decomposed remnants of textile products, possibly paper towel or a tissue.  
"I think we need to get out of here," T'Parief said, breaking the silence.  
"Aye, Ah'm all for that," Jeffery agreed, tossing a crystal of some kind over one shoulder.  
"Then you wish to take the turbolift down the tower, retrace our steps to the transit hub, attempt to make our way to the entrance hanger and then fight out way past several armed Matrian rebels using only the few weapons we have managed to obtain?" Valtaic asked.  
"Well, when ye put it that way, it sounds like a lot of walking,"  
"Our orders," Fifebee reminded him, "Are to discover the purpose of this place, hopefully in time to aid with the coming battle."  
"And do ye see that happening?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Well," Fifebee admitted, "My progress has been limited, but I believe we can at least track the coming battle,"  
"Ye have access to the orbital sensors?"  
Fifebee tapped a command. In the center of the command deck, a holographic display snapped to life. A hologram of the planet hovered over the central display table. In orbit, they could see tiny holograms of Silverado, the Matrian ships and the Senousian cruisers.  
"Neat," Jeffery said.  
"I thought you said you had made progress?" Valtaic said.  
"Eh?" Fifebee frowned at him.  
"You had access to the sensors previously. They are one of the systems that was not locked down,"  
"Well," Fifebee cleared her throat, "We have a nicer display now,"  
Growling to himself as the bickering continued, T'Parief stood and started another round of the lower walkway. He peered out the dark windows, trying to make out any detail that could be helpful. Squinting, he thought he could make out a dim shape, but it could have been his imagination, or a reflection off the window. He'd almost turned away when something caught his eye. Something was wedged in the bottom corner of the window, half hidden by the walkway edge. Bending down, he fished it out.  
It was a data padd. It must have fallen from one of the upper levels and slid down the window, T'Parief reasoned. He activated it. He couldn't understand the text, but the image needed no explanation.  
"Lieutenant Commander Fifebee, your assistance please," he said.  
"What is it, dear?" Fifebee asked, abandoning her argument with Valtaic and rushing down the stairs. T'Parief handed her the padd.  
The image displayed was that of an explosion. A very, very large one. It was hard to make out the object that was exploding, but one curved edge caught both their eyes. The curving shape, starting to tumble as the explosion pushed it away, bore a strong resemblance to the piece of space debris they'd explored only days before.  
"Men Destroy Matronus," Fifebee breathed, translating the headline. Jeffery and Valtaic had joined her on the lower level, "It is a news report. It says that yesterday night at 2100h, a team of men sabotaged the power reactor of Matronus, resulting in an overload that destroyed the entire city and killed over 2 million Matrians. The Queen and the Council of Mistresses have declared a state of emergency, and all men are ordered to return to their homes immediately."  
"City?" Jeffery asked, trying to get a closer look at the image.  
"It appears Matronus was indeed an orbital habitat," Fifebee said, "An extremely large one. This is it. This was the start of the Gender Wars," she looked at the padd with an expression that bordered on awe, "We are holding what may be the only uncorrupted report of those early days on the entire planet!"  
She quickly started paging through the other data files on the padd.  
"There is more here," she said, "Intelligence reports. Material requests. News reports on male rioting. And orders…" she trailed off as she read.  
"There is a message here, possibly to the commander of this installation, ordering an immediate evacuation and lockdown," she said.  
Something was bothering Valtaic.  
"Commander T'Parief," he said, "You say you found this report on the floor?"  
"Well, wedged into a window frame, but as the window is the floor at this particular-"  
"And the Gender Wars lasted about a century?"  
"Yes,"  
"Then," Valtaic said, "That means-"  
"This place was abandoned over a hundred years before the war ended," Fifebee suddenly interrupted, "Look at the timestamp on this message!"  
Valtaic's energy field surged with irritation. So much for deductive reasoning!  
"It was not Mistress Laurette that removed this facility from the Matrian database! It was the Old Matrians! They took steps to hide this place when the Gender Wars broke out, and they succeeded beyond their expectations! If there had not been an intact data core in the wreckage of Old Matronus, this place could have remained hidden, possibly for all time! And there is more…" Fifebee continued reading. She stopped.  
"Come with me," she said, "I believe I have found something worth investigating.

It was time.  
Rotating serenely around its star, Matria Prime looked like a jewel set into a velvet backdrop. Granted, the scars of ruined cities and impact craters marred its beauty somewhat, but they were like pimples on a supermodel: Noticeable, but not enough to turn you away. Orbiting the planet was a mixed fleet of ships and satellites. The incomplete satellite defence system had been activated and hung in geosynchronous orbit above the current city of Matronus. Positioned further out, the Federation starship Silverado sat directly in line between the approaching Qu'Eh ships and the planet. Her hull had been fully repaired, her weapons fully charged and her jury-rigged Matrian reactors had been pumped into overdrive. Flanking her to both sides as well and above and below were the Matrian cruisers. These same ships had survived Silverado's attack against the Matrians over two years ago. Augmented with improved technologies and the few additional cruisers that had been built in the meantime, they were still smaller and less powerful than the Starfleet ship. A scattering of scout ships flew between the larger vessels, and squadrons of Matrian and Senousian starfighters, just launched from the planet surface, were quickly making their way to the fleet.  
Commander Jall sat in Silverado's command chair, snapping orders left and right as the final preparations were made. Next to him, Dr. Wowryk was on the comm with the repair teams, being updated on likely weak points. Both of them knew that without Stafford, Sylvia, T'Parief or the other absent officers and/or artificial life forms, this was not going to be Silverado's finest battle.  
Deep beneath the Matrian Defence Headquarters, Stafford stood next to Admiral Verethi, carefully watching the holographic display. Ensign Burke was manning the sensor controls next to the pretty Matrian technician, Lieutenant Yanick was supervising the Matrian communications technicians and Lieutenant Commander Stern was standing by to command the Matrian ground forces, various HT members helping out the area commanders in their respective command posts. Ensign Naketh was manning the panel that had been linked to the planetary defence satellites. Their Starfleet uniforms made Stafford feel a bit better…a bit more at home. But then his eye caught the tiny hologram of Silverado, hovering next to the planet.  
"This is Matrian Defence Headquarters to all ships," he said, tapping his comm-badge. "The Qu'Eh fleet will drop out of warp in 30 seconds. Stand by for Phase One,"  
He exchanged glances with Admiral Verethi.  
"Let's hope this works," he said.

"We ready for this?" Jall asked.  
"Everybody seems to say we are," Wowryk said, looking at the status reports streaming by on her chair panel. She wasn't really sure why the Arboretum was sending battle readiness reports, unless somebody in the Botany labs had been doing some unauthorized experiments on the trees. This lead to a brief chain of thought where Wowryk considered the possibility of engineering shrubbery that would punish any who attempted illicit intercourse in the bushes, but was quickly brought back to the moment when Stafford's voice rang through the bridge.  
"Stand by for Phase One,"  
Wowryk straightened up ever more in her chair, her stomach clenching, her eyes darting to the empty void displayed on the viewscreen.  
"Are you ready for this, doc?" Jall asked softly.  
"This wasn't exactly my idea," Wowryk said, gripping the armrest.  
"You'll do fine." Jall said, "Just take a deep breath and imagine the Qu'Eh attacking us in their underwear,"  
Wowryk giggled a bit despite herself.  
"The Qu'Eh fleet is dropping out of warp!" Quintaine called from Sciences.  
"On screen," Jall ordered.  
On the bridge display, Wowryk saw nothing but stars. Then, at the exact center of the screen, a small green dot appeared. Then another, then another, until there were over two dozen dots clustered on the screen.  
"They've dropped out of warp between the orbits of Matria IV and Matria V," Ensign Bith reported, "They are scanning the planets and their moons. No sign of aggressive movement against the fleet, as of yet,"  
"Why do they care about the moons this time?" Wowryk asked, "Didn't they go right for the planet in the first attack? Wait, that didn't sound very confident or commanding. I know they did."  
"Uh-huh," Jall said, "But there's a little something there this time that wasn't there the last time,"

"We're detecting energy reading from the third moon of Matria IV," Assistant Sub-Manager Crennis reported, "They definitely weren't there the first time,"  
"Full sensor sweep," his commanding officer, Sub-Manager Dukar ordered, "Advise Chairman P'tareck that we may have found something,"  
"Sending now," Peon Furden reported. "Sir, the flagship advises that the fleet will hold at station keeping until we've identified the source of the emissions,"  
"Very well," Dukar nodded, "Take us to the planet,"

"This is the Matrian Cruiser Velance to Defence HQ. They've taken the bait, Admiral!"  
"Minister," Verethi walked briskly around the central display table, her boot heels clicking on the polished stone floor, "The Qu'Eh have-"  
"I'm not deaf, Admiral," Stafford said, musing for a moment that it was to be able to say that rank with annoyance to somebody's face for once, "Commence Phase One,"  
"Launching PAWNs, you smug Starfleet bastard,"

The Qu'Eh Cruiser Resource Management eased into orbit of the third moon of Matria 4, its small scout-class escort ships flanking it to either side. The moon had once been colonized by the Matrians and used as a mining outpost. Several abandoned pressure domes dotted the surface, some still containing viable, if very stale, atmospheres. As the Qu'Eh ship loomed closer, four Matrian Duchess-class scouts launched from the surface. The Qu'Eh ship bathed the planetoid in sensor beams, taking no action against the scouts.

"They're not firing on the scouts, sir," Quintaine reported.  
"That's OK," Jall said, tapping his console, "This is Commander Jall to PAWN Leader. Hold your fire until fired upon,"  
"Hold my what?" a confused sounding male voice came back.  
"I mean don't shoot yet!" Jall snapped.  
"Oh. I already knew that. It was in the mission briefing,"  
"I know that, but it's more dramatic if I remind you!"  
"What, is that some kind of silly human custom?"  
"It is, as a matter of fact, you little-" Jall bit his lip, "Look, just wait for them to fire the first shot!"  
"I know, we just discussed-" the voice was cut off as Jall leaned on the 'disconnect' button.

The four PAWN ships kept their distance from the Qu'Eh ship, careful to stay clear of its weapon's ports as the boxy ship hovered over the moon. Its main section was dotted in lights from open portals, while the broad, thin upper section was dotted with sensor arrays, weapons ports and shield generators. The scans continued for several moments, then stopped.  
The ship continued to sit there.

"This is ridiculous!" Stafford snapped, staring at the holo-display, "We don't want to shoot first, they don't want to shoot first, but we all know damned well we're here to have a battle!"  
"It's like going clubbing," Yanick chirped, "You know she wants you, you know you want her, but you're both too chicken to walk over and say hi!"  
"No, it's not like…" Stafford trailed off, "Well, yes, it's exactly like that,"  
He stared at the holo-display for several moments, mentally daring the Qu'Eh to make the first move.  
"Open a channel," he said.

Aboard the Resource Management, Sub-Manager Dukar watched the screen as the alien commander appeared on screen.  
"This is Capt, er, Minister Christopher Stafford of the Fed…uh, Matrian Defence Force. Matria Prime is a Federation member world, and as such is defended by the full strength of the Federation. Any attempt to approach Matria Prime or to interfere with Matrian vessels will be seen as an act of hostility and dealt with accordingly. Um…please go away?"  
There was a pause of less than a second, then Chairman P'tareck appeared on the screen. Dressed in a smart bluish suit and swirling red cape, he sat comfortably in his wing-backed leather armchair.  
"Minister Stafford, is it? Hmm. Well, it's nice to hear that your Federation was so welcoming to the Matrians, especially after the way you so nicely decimated their defence force the last time you were here. And now you're in command? Isn't that interesting?" He leaned forward, "The Qu'Eh do not take kindly to your attempts to annex planets in our part of the galaxy. Let me give you this opportunity to depart peacefully. I can, after all, show mercy once every 2.75 years." He turned to his assistant, "Betheria, please note that down in my calendar. I would hate to be merciful again before I was due,"  
"Yes, Mr. Chairman,"  
"Thanks," Stafford said dryly on the screen, "But you don't seem to understand. The Matrians invited us here, and they voted to become part of the Federation. We have reinforcements on the way, and let me tell you, we've got some much, much bigger ships than you do!"  
"Minister, perhaps you don't understand." P'Tareck leaned forward, "I do not care! The Qu'Eh have targeted the Matrian Republic for auditing, and we will audit! As for your mighty Federation, I see one ship. Thank you, but we'll take our chances." He gestured and his assistant cut off the transmission.  
"That went well," he mused to himself. He turned to his Fleet Commander.  
"Destroy those scouts,"

"We're taking fire!" PAWN Leader cried, stabbing at his controls. The small scout, barely the size of an Oberth-class starship, darted to the side as Qu'Eh energy beams skimmed over its shields.  
"Return fire!" Stafford's voice came over the command channel. Not wasting a moment, PAWN Leader immediately commanded his ships to open fire.  
"We're denting their shields a bit," he reported, "But their disruptor beams are taking a toll on us!"  
His ships concentrated their fire on one of the Qu'Eh escorts. There was a flash of light as the small vessel exploded.

"FIRST BLOOD!" announced the holo-display table as one of the tiny Qu'Eh holograms blinked out. A small counter beneath the projection read 'Matrians: 1, Qu'Eh: 0'.  
"What the f**k?" Stafford asked, "Did the table just talk?"  
"I dunno," Verethi shrugged, "And since whoever designed this system has been dead for about two hundreds years, I doubt we'll ever find out,"  
"Meh," Stafford shrugged, "Is our little present ready?"  
"Yes,"  
"Then fire!"

In one of the empty pressure domes on Matria 4's third moon, the MDF had found an interesting relic: a planetary defence cannon. The technology was nothing special: pretty much any planet inhabited by a space-faring race had the things. Nothing more than a disruptor bank much like those mounted on the Matrian ships, the planetary versions were bigger, heavier and usually hooked into much bigger power reactors. The Matrians had been able to get one of the old things on-line, but hadn't seen any real use for it, seeing as how it was on an abandoned moon far from their homeworld. A small team of Matrian and Starfleet technicians had been sent to make sure the cannon and the ancient geothermal energy tap that powered it were up, running and giving off enough energy readings to make the Qu'Eh curious.  
Now, a panel next to one of the domes slid open, and the blunt snout of the cannon eased into firing position.

"I'm getting a power spike on the planet!" Assistant Sub-Manager Crennis called out.  
"Lock weapons and-"  
The ship pitched over as a brilliant beam of energy stabbed out from the planet, hitting the Qu'Eh cruiser square in the main section.  
"Shields are down to 20%!" One of the Peons called.  
"Move us out! Move us out! Call for additional assets!"  
The Resource Management turned quickly, struggling to shake off the PAWN ships that were still harassing it, their weapons breaking through the larger ship's weakened shields. Plumes of gas started to vent through hull breaches. The moon's cannon fired again and the Qu'Eh ship exploded, the shock wave knocking the PAWNs off course.  
They'd barely regained control when six Qu'Eh cruisers and their support ships swept in, obliterating the PAWNs, the disruptor cannon and the abandoned mining facility.

"Well, that went about as well as we expected," Stafford said, watching as Matrian icons blinked out on the display. The tally now read 'Matrians: 3, Qu'Eh, 6', with a sub-display giving a breakdown of destroyed assets by ship class and structure type.  
"YOU HAVE LOST THE LEAD!" announced the voice.  
"Defense HQ to PAWN leader," Admiral Verethi called, "Report. Did the idiot Starfleet plan work?"

In Silverado's main holodeck, PAWN leader sat in the command chair of his simulated scout. The displays had all frozen the shortly before PAWN-1 had been destroyed, the remote feed used to transmit commands to the unmanned ship and receive telemetry back severed as a Qu'Eh weapons blast took out the subspace transceiver. As the simulated bridge faded, he joined the other PAWN crewmembers as they jogged out of the holodeck towards the Matrian fighters waiting for them in Silverado's shuttlebay.  
"Affirmative, HQ," PAWN leader reported, "Silverado should be transmitting the data momentarily.

"Mr. Quintaine?" Jall asked, turning to gaze at the temporary science officer.  
"Got it!" Quintaine reported triumphantly, "Weapons frequencies, torpedo modulations and some pretty detailed readings on their ships' capabilities!"  
"Perfect. Send then down to Burke. Make sure he sends them to the entire fleet,"  
"You know, we could just send them to the entire fleet," Pye suggested from the helm. So far, with the actual fighting taking place far from Matria Prime, he hadn't had much to do.  
"We could," Jall said, "But that's why we have a central headquarters in a very secure location. They get to do that kinda stuff, we don't have to worry about it, and when we get blown to pieces the fleet still has a leader,"  
Wowryk watched the exchange with interest. Most of the time, when Silverado had gone into battle, she'd been down in Sickbay, tending to the wounded and generally wondering what idiotic stunt the command crew had pulled to cause the current predicament. Her last battle had, through a series of flukes, found her in command of the ship and she'd learned the hard way that it wasn't always your own idiotic stunts that caused the problem. Now, acting as first officer, without the chaos of direct battle, she found herself watching her colleagues closely. It helped her keep her mind off the thought of imminent failure; the thought that one mistake on her part could lead to the destruction of the whole ship.  
What she found most interesting was the change in the bridge officers as they monitored the Que'Eh fleet and the destruction of the PAWN vessels. Lieutenant Pye, typically full of mindless chatter, was being relatively quiet. Lieutenant Day was almost completely silent at the operations console, and the lack of filthy lust she felt when her gaze fell on him told her that his Deltan endocrine systems was all but inactive. Ensign Bith was running tactical scenarios on her console and programming Silverado's shields to provide extra protection against the weapons frequencies being used by the Qu'Eh. Lieutenant Commander Quintaine was running scan after scan, carefully cataloguing the ships in the Qu'Eh fleet and reconciling the data collected by the Matrian planetary sensor array with Silverado's more refined readings.  
But the biggest change was Commander Jall.  
He sat in the command chair like it was an armchair, one leg curled under the other, leaning back in the leather cushioning and sipping a Vanilla Latte that had been brought up by a terrified-looking Guinanco waiter.  
Well, OK, so that wasn't much of a change.  
What astonished Wowryk, however, was the change in his attitude. Oh, he was still the same flippant, flamboyant and, in her opinion, far too gay officer he'd always been. But where before there had been arrogance, now there was an almost frightening confidence. Jall looked like he didn't have a care in the world. He wasn't dreading the Qu'Eh attack, he was waiting for them to come close enough for him to swat them. And if he happened to get killed in the process, oh well. Can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs, right?  
As she flipped through the flight recorders, ensuring that each was running properly, she came across the video feed from the bridge. She couldn't help but notice that, next to Jall, she looked terrified as she clutched her chair, tapping on her console, her eyes darting around to see if anybody else had noticed.  
And she was supposed to be first officer?

"Sir, Silverado just transmitted the Qu'Eh weapons frequencies," Burke reported from the Matrian sensor station, "At least, I think they did. My Universal Translator's acting up…they may have just sent us the dimensions on Playmate of the Month,"  
"Hmmm?" Stafford frowned.  
"Well, it either says '27.4 tera-hertz', or 'D-cup',"  
"It's the weapon's frequency," Yanick piped in, "If Jall was sending info on Playmate of the Month, it would be in inches. And it would be either bicep size or the length of-"  
"TRISH!" Stafford whined, "We're going into battle, and in front of the Matrians, too! Can we can the sexual innuendos for now?"  
"But sexual innuendo about Jall is so much fun!" Yanick giggled, "Nothing makes you more uncomfortable, not even that time I came into your quarters instead of T'Parief's by mistake, wearing that chocolate lingerie-"  
"TRIIIIIISH!"  
Around him, the Matrian women were giving approving looks while the men were looking at Stafford like he was some kind of pervert.  
"I didn't look," he grumbled, "Honestly,"  
"If you're finished behaving like undisciplined fools," Admiral Verethi snapped, "Could we get the status of the Qu'Eh fleet?"  
"They're advancing very slowly," Burke replied, squinting at his console, "I'm picking up intense sensor scans from their leading ships. Either that, or I just won the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes,"  
"Somebody get him a fresh translator," Stafford snapped.

"Still advancing slowly," Quintaine reported.  
"Any new orders from HQ?" Wowryk demanded.  
"Nope. Not since the last time you asked, about 2 minutes ago,"  
"So we're back to staring at each other," Wowryk grumbled, "That was pointless,"  
"We gained some valuable intel," Jall reminded her.  
Wowryk nodded.  
"Right, right," she agreed.  
"C'mon, doc," Jall said, getting out of his seat, "let's go have a coffee,"  
"Excuse me? Aren't we about to do battle?"  
"Sure," Jall shrugged, "That's why we're going to the ready room instead of Platterhead's." He thumbed the comm button on Stafford's chair, "Jall to Officer's Mess, bring two Jall Specials to the ready room,"  
"This isn't a cheap drive-through, you know," the voice of Patsy Horton came back over the comm.  
"Send them up, or I'll tell Stafford what your wait staff and I have been doing in your storage room,"  
Silence for a moment.  
"On their way," Horton replied.  
Wowryk glared at him, her lip curling in disgust.  
"What?" Jall shrugged, "It's not my problem if she thinks a game of pool is disgustingly lower-class,"  
Suppressing a small giggle, Wowryk followed him into the ready room. To her surprise, Jall took a seat in one of the chairs facing Stafford's desk, leaving the captain's usual seat empty. He gestured for Wowryk to sit on the couch. A cute, Brazillian waiter brought their drinks: Beanus espresso with steamed milk and a sort of a sweet, nutty flavouring.  
"I thought you could use a bit of first-officer type advice," Jall told her.  
"I don't think I ever considered that I'd be getting advice from you," Wowryk said. There was, she found with some surprise, no disdain or annoyance in her voice. With the upcoming fight, and the realization that they could both be dead in less than a day, she had found that her hatred of the Trill had faded, replaced by something else. It wasn't affection, it wasn't quite respect…but it was a close call. A sort of realization that he'd been part of her life for nearly four years and that he would be missed, badly, if anything happened to him.  
"Well," Jall admitted, "Most of the time, the only advice I would have given you would have been to take that stick out of your ass and to unlock that chastity belt before your womanly parts rust off, but we're in a different sort of situation now, aren't we?"  
OK, maybe she wouldn't miss him that much.  
"You were pretty surprised when Stafford made you first officer, weren't you," Jall said, sipping his coffee and looking her in the eyes.  
"Yes," Wowryk nodded.  
"I wasn't," Jall said bluntly, "See, Stafford has a lot of flaws. A LOOOT of flaws. Oh, sweetie, he's like the poor deluded soul wearing spring colours after the fall line-up has been released. But one thing I'll say for him is that he's been putting people where he thinks they can do the most good. Well, this thing with Fifebee, Valtaic and them is a long shot, but it seemed like a really good idea at the time. Anyway, he felt that in this situation, you'd do the most good,"  
"I don't understand that at all," Wowryk said, setting her cup down, "I'm a doctor. I heal. I save. I don't command!"  
"Please, sweetie," Jall chuckled, "Ask anybody who's been through Sickbay…you command. You're assertive and when you want something, you go for it. Big time."  
"Well, OK," Wowryk admitted, "But Quintaine knows a lot more about commanding a ship in battle than I do!"  
"He does," Jall said, "But that's not everything. We have Quintaine on the bridge if we need him. And you've got little old sexy me. But what Quintaine and I don't have is your image,"  
"If this is about my breasts again-"  
"It's not," Jall stood up and turned to look out the window, where Matria Prime slowly spun, "I mean, they are nice. But, Noel, the Matrians think very highly of you. You're the woman who stood up to their entire half-brainwashed ruling council for gender equality. You went deep into the heart of their empire to get the man you loved back, and you're an important part of why this crew put their entire society back on course." He leaned over the back of his chair, "Do you know what it means to the Matrians on those ships when they hear your voice over the comm?"  
Wowryk said nothing.  
"It gives them hope," Jall said, "It gives them drive. And that's something that's going to be very, very important, considering how badly outnumbered we are,"  
Wowryk still said nothing.  
"So here's my advice," Jall said, standing again, "Go out there, and be the same old Wowryk we all know and…er…love. Don't give a shit about what other people think! You're calm, confident and in control. If you screw up some of the little things like which repair team has to go and plug a whole in the hull, don't worry about it. Quintaine and I are out there too." He giggled, "This one time, when we were in a fight with these Orion pirates, Stafford hit the wrong button and almost blew Repair Team Delta out of a cargo bay." He continued giggling for a few more moments, then swallowed, "But, anyway, you get the idea,"  
"Yes," Wowryk said calmly, "I do.  
As she stood, she took a deep breath, gathering around her the ice-cold confidence and power that she drew from her unfalteringly belief in God. All would be well. She was but an instrument of the Lord, and whatever happened was His will.  
"Did it just drop a few degrees in here, or is it just me?" Jall muttered as he followed her back onto the bridge.

"Movement!" Burke snapped, staring at his sensor readouts, "The Qu'Eh fleet just pushed it up to half impulse!"  
"Here we go," Stafford muttered. He consulted briefly with Verethi, then turned to Yanick, "Deploy the fighters. Let's see if we can wear them down a bit,"  
"Fighters," Burke chuckles, "What a weird idea,"  
"Starfleet's used Peregrine-class fighters before," Stafford said, "But they seem to be pretty rare,"  
"Because they suck,"  
"Am I to understand that you have no experience commanding fighters in battle?" Verethi demanded.  
"Well, I dunno about 'no'." Stafford shrugged, "Not much, but…well…"  
"Idiot Starfleeters," Verethi mumbled again.

In orbit of Matria Prime, hovering around the cruisers and scouts, were several flights of Matrian Countess-class star-fighters. An equal number of Senousian Penetration-class fighters were launching from the Senousian cruisers, forming a screen between the oncoming Qu'Eh ships and the Mantrian/Senousian fleet. The fighters were similar in capabilities, though the Senousian fighters were newly built while the Matrian fighters had been sitting, almost forgotten, in storage hangers since the end of the Gender Wars. Each had high-powered impulse engines, disruptor cannons and micro-torpedo launchers. Their weapons couldn't begin to measure up against a full sized starship, but their ability to distract was excellent, and in numbers they could do damage. Unfortunately, they were still outnumbered by the Qu'Eh fighters.  
In the lead were two Starfleet Denube-class runabouts, followed by 3 Class-9 shuttles. Less manoeuvrable than the star-fighters, their warp cores allowed for more powerful weapons and shields.  
"Stingray Leader, this is Silverado," Wowryk's voice came over the combat channel, "Commence strafing runs,"  
"Ohhh, goody," Ensign Menzies muttered as he ran his hands over the console of the runabout Asessippi, "Isn't this going to be fun!"  
"You enjoy star-fighter combat?" Commander Hures, the Matrian officer designated Stingray Leader asked.  
"Oh, sure. I just love when I get to fly around in a tiny, fragile little ship and get shot at by a much larger ship,"  
"Good," Hures nodded, "I love it too. At least, I hope I will. Stingray Alpha, Stingray Beta, come to heading 238 mark 8. Make runs on the Qu'Eh cruisers designated Cutie-1 and Cutie-2. Probe Leader," he addressed his counterpart commanding the Senousian fighters, "You want to take a couple cruisers off their port flank?"  
"Confirm, Stingray Leader," replied the Senousian officer from her station on the runabout Niagra.

Impulse engines flared as the delta-wing shaped Matrian fighters and the ridged, phallic-shaped Senousian fighters broke free of the defending fleet and darted towards the Qu'Eh fleet. As they approached, weapons fire started streaking in from the Qu'Eh.  
"Evasive manoeuvres!" Stingray Leader called over comm, "Don't make it easy for them!"  
The fighters broke into their separate flights, each targeting one of the Qu'Eh cruisers on the flanks of the fleet. Firing beam weapons and micro-torpedoes', the fighters did as much damages as they could in one pass before darting out of the larger ship's weapon's range.  
"We took their shields down 8%," reported Stingray Alpha-1.  
"Coming around for another run," Probe Alpha-2 added.  
"Belay that!" Stingray Leader called, "Head back for Matria Prime immediately."  
"What the hell?"  
"Those are our orders,"  
"Idiots!" Stingray Beta-1 snapped.  
There was a flash of weapons fire from the Qu'Eh ships. Stingray Alpha-3 was caught in the crossfire, exploding into a fireball.  
"Try and lead them into firing range of the fleet!" Probe Leader called.  
The fighters pulled in tight turns, heading back towards the planet. They hadn't even reached the orbit of Matria 2 when the Qu'Eh fighters, now in hot pursuit, started to pepper them with fire. All of Probe-Gamma, lagging behind as they were, was caught by Qu'Eh torpedoes, all six fighters exploding like firecrackers.

"Incoming!" Bith called from tactical.  
"Man, what I wouldn't give to have Sylvia on the bridge right now," Jall muttered, "Fire as soon as they're in weapon's range."  
"That was about 10 seconds ago,"  
"Then fire!" Jall snapped. Next to him, Wowryk was parroting his orders to the rest of the fleet.  
"They're coming in too fast!"  
Outside the ship, phaser fire flashed out, searching for the oncoming Qu'Eh fighters. But the fighters, coming in as such high speed, darted right past the fleet before they had the chance to get off a few pot shots. The Matrian/Senousian fighters broke hard to port and starboard, killing their speed and darting back towards the protection of the larger ships. The Qu'Eh fighters, caught off guard, hit the brakes in an effort to turn around and follow.  
And wound up as sitting ducks for the defence satellites.  
The instant Burke reported the fighter's drop in speed, Naketh started stabbing attack commands into his control panel. Automated systems on those satellites that were functional targeted the Qu'Eh ships and opened fire. Over a dozen Qu'Eh fighters were destroyed before the rest could scramble out of range.

"YOU ARE IN THE LEAD!" announced the holotable.  
"Not bad," Verethi admitted grudgingly.  
"It's a start," Stafford grumbled. On the holo-display, the tiny icons representing the Qu'Eh fighters were now making strafing runs on the Matrian ships. But unlike the Qu'Eh, the Matrian/Senousian force had been told to hold formation, not to split up the way the Qu'Eh ships had. The fighters were moving too quickly for the targeting scanners on the Matrian cruisers, but the fighters and scouts began scoring kills. On Matria Prime, the half-dozen planetary defence cannons that had been repaired were trying to track the tiny ships, but couldn't fire for fear of hitting the wrong fleet.  
Suddenly, the Qu'Eh fighters broke off; abandoning their attack runs and high-tailing it back to the Qu'Eh fleet.  
Aboard Silverado, Jall was leaning over the engineering station.  
"Our phaser recharge rate is still too low," he muttered.  
"Well, we don't exactly have a warp core to work with here," Lieutenant Sage responded from main engineering.  
"The fighters are withdrawing," Bith reported, "And I even managed to hit a couple!"  
"Oh that's good news," Jall said,  
"And the Qu'Eh fleet is increasing speed," she added.  
"And that's bad news,"  
"But we've finished the shield adjustments." Quintaine reported, "We should have a bit of extra protection from their weapons,"  
"And that's good news," Jall nodded.  
"Oh, by the way," Day called from Operations, "Jeffery's half an hour overdue on his check-in,"  
"And that's bad news,"  
"Qu'Eh fleet is arming weapons,"  
"Getting worse,"  
"They'll be in weapons range in 30 seconds."  
"And," Jall said, settling back into his chair, "With that one, I think we've hit rock bottom."

Deep under the surface of Matria Prime, Jeffery, Valtaic, Fifebee and T'Parief crept out of the posh, mirrored turbolift they'd ridden and into yet another lofty corridor. Holding the Matrian padd, Fifebee paged through the various entries as she walked.  
"I can't find any mention of what exactly is down here," she said, "But there are instructions to lock it down and keep it prepared for long-term storage,"  
"This better be the part where we finally find the big, secret weapon that we get to use to defend the planet," T'Parief said angrily, "I am hungry, and there is a battle starting in orbit that I wanted to be a part of!"  
"With all our luck, the door's going to be locked anyway," Jeffery grumbled, massaging his empty stomach, "Can we go lookin' for a replicator after this?"  
Fifebee led them into a smaller corridor. Unlike the first, which had high ceilings, polished floors and paneled walls, this one was cramped and utilitarian. Carefully examining the markings on each door, she continued leading them through the complex.  
"This one," she said, pointing at an unassuming doorway.  
"Superweapon." T'Parief muttered, crossing his clawed fingers, "Superweapon…superweapon…"  
"It's not locked," Jeffery said, tapping at the panel and opening the door.  
"Superweapon…superweapon…"  
"Uh-oh," Jeffery muttered. T'Parief poked his head in the door.  
"ZHAVHARGETHENZ!" he screamed, slamming a fish through the opposite wall.  
"Fascinating," Fifebee exclaimed.  
It was a laboratory.  
Nearly a dozen stasis tubes lined the walls. In each one lay a male Matrian, each motionless, deep in suspended animation. Their naked limbs were slim, and lithe. Their features were delicate and fragile. None of them had seen Matrian men like these.  
In the center of the room sat a thirteenth pod. It also held a Matrian male, but this one more closely resembled the Matrians they were used to dealing with.  
"Growth accelerators," Fifebee muttered, examining the equipment on the work benches, "gene sequencers. Genetic replication vats,"  
"This is not a superweapon," T'Parief complained, picking pieces of the wall out from under his claws.  
"No," Valtaic said, carefully examining the central stasis pod, "But if this is what I think it is, it could be a great deal of trouble."

End

Next: It's battles above and below as the fight for Matria Prime erupts. While the Qu'Eh fleet sweeps into orbit, Fifebee, Jeffery, Valtaic and T'Parief come face to face with a relic from Matria's past…


	15. Sub-terfuge

Star Traks: Silverado

4.15 "Sub-terfuge"

Admiral Edward Tunney had returned to the Starbase 45 Operations Center. As usual, a lowly peon had cried 'Admiral on the bridge' and Captain Brown had come running from the Docking Control console, where he'd been watching the vidscreen with his first officer. Before the diminutive officer had a chance to ask how the ventilation in Tunney's office was functioning, or if Tunney had tried the new Romulan haberdashery in the shopping center, Tunney started speaking.  
"Anything new from the Matrian relay?" he asked.  
"See for yourself, Admiral," Brown said, gesturing at the screen. A tactical plot of the Matrian system, complete with computer-generated weapon's fire, explosions and ship statistics was displayed on the screen. Actually, in was in the lower right corner of the screen, taking advantage of the Picture-In-Picture feature, while the majority of the screen was dedicated to a Days of Honour rerun. Embarrassed, one of Brown's officers switched the views, giving a better view of the Matrian situation and relegating the tangled relationships of Minister Vlag and Sovok to the lower corner.  
"Why is there a scoreboard?" Tunney asked, pointing at a section of the screen that read 'Matrians: 15, Qu'Eh 9'."  
"Dunno. But it's good to know how they stand, isn't it?"  
"I suppose. I'd feel better if they had something a bit more substantial than a few destroyed fighters keeping them in the lead," Tunney mused.  
"Who the hell uses star-fighters these days, anyway?" Brown asked.  
"Weren't the Constellation and Akira-class ships designed as fighter carriers?" Brown's security chief asked.  
"I have no idea," Tunney said flatly. On the screen, the two fleets were coming together into a tangle of ships, weapons and fiery explosions. Suddenly, the image distorted, scrambling like that morning's eggs and vanishing from the screen.  
"We've lost the signal!" the communications officer reported.  
"Problems at the relay?"  
"No, the relay is still sending a carrier. The signal was cut off at the source,"  
"Well," Tunney sighed, turning to the turbolift, "I'll go start writing condolence notes to the families,"  
"Isn't that a bit premature, sir?" Brown asked.  
Tunney shrugged.  
"I have about 800 of them to write," he said, "By the time our reinforcements get there and confirm the carnage, I should be just about finished."  
"Ohh, excellent thinking, sir!" Brown gushed.  
"Kiss-ass," Tunney muttered as the turbolift doors hissed shut.

"I don't see how this is a problem," Commander T'Parief was saying, "They have been in stasis for at least two hundred years. I doubt they are a threat to us,"  
"An excellent security threat assessment," Valtaic said, inclining his head, "However, like most security officers, you forget the consider those repercussions not related to security,"  
"That is because I do not CARE about repercussions not related to security!"  
"What a limited viewpoint to take,"  
"You will have a limited viewpoint, once I finish gouging out your eyes!"  
"Please," Valtaic sneered, "Dr. Wowryk would have them replaced within an hour,"  
"Then let us proceed!" T'Parief growled, his claws sliding into place with an audible SNICK.  
"Should we stop them?" Jeffery asked Fifebee.  
"Negative," she replied, "They have been pent up down here for a while. Let them get it out of their systems. Perhaps it will be like one of those dramatic holo-vision shows, where two characters begin with a heated argument, caused in part by sexual tension, and leading to an intense session of sexual activity,"  
Both T'Parief and Valtaic abruptly stopped arguing, both spinning to face her.  
"What?" Valtaic demanded.  
"Did somebody say sex?" T'Parief inquired.  
"Please, continue your argument," Fifebee said, "This is most fascinating."  
T'Parief and Valtaic exchanged glances.  
"I am no longer in the mood to argue," Valtaic said flatly.  
"Me neither," T'Parief agreed.  
"Smoothly done," Jeffery muttered to Fifebee.  
"Indeed."  
She returned to her scans of the laboratory. A dozen stasis tubes lined the walls, each containing the inanimate form of a male Matrian. A thirteenth stood in the center of the lab, containing another. The difference was that while the other twelve men were slim, almost elfin, this one was more muscular, more defined...more manly, Fifebee's attraction sub-routines finally determined. By Matrian standards, anyway. By human standards he was still small of stature and lithe of limb.  
Regardless, the presence of the Matrians, combined with the large amount of genetic manipulation equipment in the lab, led Fifebee to one inescapable conclusion.  
"This is where they created the new men," she said, slowly walking around the central stasis tube, "The experiments used to 'upgrade' the intelligence of the Matrian men were carried out here. I am sure of it,"  
"So…no superweapon?" T'Parief asked, sounding disappointed.  
"No superweapon," Fifebee confirmed.  
"Then we should leave. The battle would have started already," T'Parief said.  
"I'm with the big guy," Jeffery said, "This whole trip was a waste of time,"  
"No," Fifebee said sharply, "Regardless of the fact that we did not find a superweapon, this facility is the most important find for the Matrians since the Reawakening. The computer cores undoubtedly contain the unaltered history of their world, and we have only scratched the surface, considering the size of the facility."  
"That's nice," Jeffery said, "Really, Ah'm happy for them. But me ship is up in orbit, probably getting the crap pounded out of it, and if there's nothing down here that's gonna stop the battle, Ah need to get me bum up there!"  
"I presume you intend to take the rest of yourself, as well?" Valtaic asked.  
"Ah'm not gonna dignify that with an answer," Jeffery muttered, "C'mon, let's go," he gestured for the door.  
"Wait," Fifebee insisted, "The report I found concerning this room did not mention genetic experiments! It referred to a prisoner that had been captured and had to be placed in storage! This man, most likely," she gestured at the central tube, "If we can revive him, who knows what he can tell us!"  
"Fifebee, that's great. It really is." Jeffery said, "But the ship's in trouble, and we need to stop screwin' around down here and help out!"  
"I agree," T'Parief growled.  
"They will not be able to beam you up," Valtaic said, "Their shields will be up for the battle. And our orders are to remain here,"  
"Until we find out what's goin' on with this place! Which we know!" Jeffery said. He looked around. It was a stalemate.  
"Jeffery to Silverado," he said, tapping the Matrian comm-badge Fifebee had found earlier.  
No response.  
"Jeffery to Stafford?"  
Still no response.  
OK, fine. He was the freaking leader of this away mission, it was high time he started acting like it.  
"T'Parief and I are heading back to the entrance," he said, "We'll see what's going on with those rebels, and see if we can contact the ship. You and Valtaic stay here and do…whatever it was you wanted to do."  
Fifebee gave a small smile.  
"Oh, Simon, that's a great idea!" she said, "I know you and Chris had some issues the last time you were cut off from the ship. He'd be so happy to see that you're compromising and planning instead of fighting!"  
"And a wise compromise it is," Valtaic observed.  
"Shut up!" Jeffery snapped, giving Fifebee a strange look and pulling on T'Parief's arm. The two of them left.  
"Now where the hell was that transit hub?"

"Contact with the Qu'Eh fleet in eight minutes, mark!" Ensign Bith reported from tactical.  
"Now for the fun part," Jall mused.  
"I don't know," Wowryk shrugged, "this whole battle thing hasn't been that bad, so far,"  
"That's because we've been fighting at a distance," Jall said, "Up until now. Now it's time to get up close and personal,"  
"Sounds sinful," Wowryk observed.  
"Sweetie, you have NO idea,"  
"This is HQ to all ships," Stafford's voice came over the comm, "Stand by for Starburst on my mark,"  
"Helm, standby for full impulse power, heading 000 mark 90," Wowryk said. "Wow, I sound like such a pro!" She giggled softly.  
"He really shouldn't be allowed to name things," Jall said, "I would have called this 'Flower Power', or 'D'Ceti Missionary Position' or something cool,"  
"Sir, I don't think you should be allowed to name things either," Lieutenant Pye said from the helm, looking a bit green.  
"Belay that," Jall snickered.  
"Who was planning all this battle strategy stuff, anyway?" Wowryk asked.  
"Stafford and I got together with some of the Matrian officers. Why?"  
"Because it seems like you guys actually came up with some good ideas," Wowryk said, "I was…surprised."  
"Well, they do have tactics classes at the Academy," Jall said, looking offended.  
Wowryk gave him a sceptical look.  
"That," Jall said slowly, "And it turns out that both Stafford and I really like these old 20th-Century 'Star Wars' books. Some of those authors were fantastic when it came to writing space battles!"  
"That sounds more plausible," Wowryk muttered.  
"Contact with the Qu'Eh fleet in 30 seconds!' Bith called, running her hands over her panel, "Time to end the character dialog and get ready to fight!"  
"Could you say that again, but in a more manly voice?" Jall asked wistfully. Wowryk smacked him upside the head.  
"All ships," Stafford's voice called, "MARK!"

As the Qu'Eh fleet advanced in weapons range, closing in on the Matrian/Senousian/Silverado fleet, sporadic weapons fire began passing between the two fleets. At that range, most of the phaser and disrupter missed. Photon and quantum torpedoes were far more accurate, what with having built-in targeting and guidance systems and all, but they could in turn be targeted. Still, several Matrian torpedoes managed to impact the Qu'Eh ships, while only a few Qu'Eh torpedoes impacted the Matrian fleet. As the two fleets closed in, more and more weapons fire began passing between them, more and more of it hitting home.  
Suddenly, the Matrian fleet broke apart; cruisers, scouts and fighters pulling hard turns to port, to starboard, up or down as their impulse engines flared to full power. As the ships scattered in all directions, they formed a broad, flower-shaped starburst. The Qu'Eh ships, still proceeding under power, abruptly found themselves surrounded on all sides by the defending fleet, with the incomplete satellite defence network right in front of them.  
The comm channels went berserk. Yanick, Burke and nearly half a dozen Matrian technicians, coordinated by Verethi and Stafford, started calling out commands to the various ships in the fleet.  
"Port flank, concentrate fire on enemy vessels designated Cutie-5 and Cutie-6"  
"Silverado, take out the Qu'Eh cruiser at 285 mark 2!"  
"Probe Leader, take out the fighters heading for Senousian Cruiser Falic!"  
"Starboard flank, evasive! You've got three cruisers trying to flank you!"  
Weapons fire flashed through space as the Qu'Eh ships fought to escape from the kill zone. Several of the enemy ships starting losing shield integrity, weapons digging into their hulls and letting lose plumes of escaping gas. The defending ships, their shields fortified against Qu'Eh weapons frequencies, fared much better.  
Then all hell broke loose.

"We're being jammed!" Yanick cried out.  
"WHAT?" Stafford snapped, spinning away from Burke's console. The main holo-display started flickering, icons representing ships turning orange to indicate 'no data'.  
"The Qu'Eh ships are generating dampening signals!" Yanick said, tapping at her panel, "We're cut off! And can somebody who speaks Matrian tell me what this blinking red light does?"  
Verethi looked over her shoulder.  
"That means that we've lost a secure holo-data linkup," she frowned, "But so far as I know, we don't have any secure holo-data links going anywhere. Forget it, we have bigger problems!"  
"Burke, start figuring out how to break through that jamming!" Stafford snapped.

"Oh this is bad," Jall muttered as the ship shook.  
"Shields are down to 80% Bith called.  
"Have the Qu'Eh shifted their weapons frequencies yet?"  
"Nope, they haven't figured that part out yet,"  
"Quintaine! Any luck with the jamming?"  
"It's being generated by multiple ships!" the short, dark-haired officer reported, "It's not something we can take out easily.  
"Damn!"  
The ship shook again, harder this time.  
"Two of the Qu'Eh cruisers are combining fire!" Bith reported, "Shields down to 70%!"  
"Target one of the ships with the phaser cannon!" Wowryk ordered, "Take them out!" she quickly crossed herself, asking forgiveness for the imminent deaths.  
"We've only got one shot with that cannon!" Bith warned her.  
"I think we need the shield power more!" Jall said, "Target and fire!"  
From under the lip of the forward saucer, powered by a series of energy cells, Silverado's Defiant-class phaser cannon came to life, spitting a dozen extremely high-powered shots at the attacking ship. The Qu'Eh ships shields held against the first few shots before failing miserably, the remaining shots impacting against the bare hull, digging right to the ship's warp core, which exploded in a brilliant flash of light. Unfortunately, without a proper warp core, it would take over an hour for the energy cells to recharge.  
"One more down," Bith reported.  
"But the Qu'Eh have disabled five scouts!" Quintaine called, "One Matrian cruiser destroyed, another disabled!"

With the loss of communications, the defending fleet was quickly degenerating into a disorganized rabble. The Qu'Eh ships were breaking free of the 'kill zone' and, without any co-ordinated attacks, the defender's weapons did only moderate shield damage. Star-fighters, cut off from their leaders, had to put as much focus into locating and remaining with their wingmen as they did in attacking enemy ships. The fact that they were still scattered worked in the Matrian's favour, as it made it harder for the Qu'Eh ships to chase them down, but those ships closest to the Qu'Eh fleet were quickly disabled.

A burst of static broke through Silverado's bridge.  
"This is Matrian HQ to all ships!" Stafford's voice, shouting to be heard through the static, sounding slightly panicked, "Make the following adjustments to your comm systems!" Burke's voice came over the channel, giving a series of complicated-sounding instructions.  
"Quintaine!" Wowryk snapped.  
"Already on it!"

In Defense HQ, Stafford gave a sigh of relief as a barrage of data suddenly flowed into the command center.  
"We've re-established short-range communications," Burke reported, "Long-range communications are still down!"  
"Get the fleet back together!" Verethi snapped, "Reposition them near the defence satellites! Establish covering fire!"  
On the holo-display, the tiny holographic ships burst back into action. Several started moving towards the planet, others turned red, indicated the ships were disabled. Still more vanished as the ships were declared 'lost'.  
"YOU HAVE LOST THE LEAD!" the table boomed.  
"That thing is REALLY started to piss me off!" Stafford snapped.

Jeffery and Jeffery walked through the huge, deserted transit hub.  
This was after the first time they'd had to go back to the genetics lab and ask Fifebee for directions to the turbolifts and after the second time, when they'd had to go back to the genetics lab and ask Fifebee what level the transit hub was on. And after the third time, when…well, you get the idea. Fifebee had finally fished around in one of the workbenches until she found a very old, blank Matrian padd and scribbled down directions on how to get back out to the hanger bays. Jeffery and T'Parief, like males in about 78% of known species, insisted that they didn't need directions, despite the fact that they'd already returned for directions three times. Valtaic, of course, bluntly informed them both that he would have asked for a map before leaving the first time.  
Once in the hub however, it was easy to find the tram they'd arrived on. Most of the hub was sunken into gloomy shadows, with only muted emergency lighting active. The normal lighting in the tram stood out like a beacon. As they settled in for the ride to the hanger bays, Jeffery squinted out the windows.  
"It is unlikely that you will see anything on this trip," T'Parief grumbled, "We saw nothing on the last one,"  
"Aye," Jeffery said. Inwardly, he thought that if he at least appeared to be busy, he wouldn't have to listen to T'Parief talk about his sex life with Yanick again. Even thinking about not wanting to think about it was making him picture things that were…disturbing.  
"There is something we should discuss, before we make our battle plans for facing the rebels," T'Parief said.  
Crap.  
"This isn't about…a woman, is it?" Jeffery asked.  
"It is,"  
"Mate, Ah know ye'nd Yanick have had a rocky road, sometimes, but y'know she loves ye, and she-"  
"This is not about Yanick," T'Parief cut him off, "But thank you for the moral support. I appreciate it,"  
"Really?"  
"Really, it is not about Yanick or really, I appreciate it?"  
"Well-"  
"Because I would hate for my colleagues to think that just because I have a fearsome appearance, I don't appreciate a bit of comradeship or encouragement once in a while,"  
"When did ye get so emotional?" Jeffery asked.  
"I AM NOT EMOTIONAL!" T'Parief roared.  
"EEP!" Jeffery squeaked, retreating to the far side of the tram while T'Parief calmly wiped the spittle from his chin.  
"Anyway, I wish to speak to you about Fifebee. Haven't you noticed a change in her behaviour lately?"  
Jeffery thought for a minute.  
"Aye, she's been saying a few strange things the past week or two. She's stressed out, y'know?" Like the rest of us, he added to himself.  
"I think it may be more," T'Parief said, looking at the padd she'd given them.  
"Why do ye say that?"  
T'Parief handed him the padd. Jeffery took it, looking wary. The first entry was Fifebee's hastily sketched map, with a little diagram of the tower they'd found and little notes telling them how to set the tram destination. The second entry was a map of the corridors around the hanger they'd used as an entry point.  
"Is that a happy face?" Jeffery pointed.  
"It is. Notice as well the little hearts drawn next to the written directions."  
"That doesn't seem like a very Fifebee-like thing to do," Jeffery mused.  
"It does not,"  
Something was tugging at the corner of Jeffery's mind. The way Fifebee was acting…  
"Must be her personality database again," Jeffery mused, "Lord knows she's had enough problems with that thing. I'll check it out when we get back to the ship,"  
"Perhaps. But what personality would explain that last entry?"  
Jeffery looked back at the padd. The third and final entry was…a recipe for muffins? And a reminder to cover up if they were going back into that desert sun.  
"What kind of science-type personality would-" Jeffery's eyes suddenly bugged out of his head. "SYLVIA!"  
T'Parief cocked his head.  
"What?"  
"It's Sylvia!" Jeffery said, jumping to his feet as the tram slowly slid to a stop in the first transit stop they'd found, "That's why her gel-pack isn't working! She must have used Fifebee's personality database as a hiding place when she was fighting with that virus! Ye Gods, I'm an idiot! Why didn't I notice it sooner? We've gotta go back!"  
"What about the ship?" T'Parief demanded.  
"The ship?" Jeffery stared at him, "But…Sylvia…"  
"If she is somehow in Fifebee's program, she will still be there when we get back. For now, we must focus,"  
"Right, right," Jeffery swallowed, following T'Parief out of the tram and towards the holographic force field separating the hanger from the rest of the facility, "So, I guess we need a battle plan then, huh?"  
"Indeed,"

"Left flank, focus your firepower on the Qu'Eh cruiser at 305 mark 5," Yanick's voice came over the command channel, "Silverado, cover cruiser Bentuk, their shields are almost down,"  
"Our shields are almost down!" Jall grumbled, but gestured at Wowryk.  
"Helm, move us between those Qu'Eh fighters and the Bentuk," she ordered, "Bith, see if we can get some star-fighter support over here!"  
"All Matrian star-fighters are currently attacking other enemies," Bith reported, "But if we continue to hold, we'll be asssted in the order in which our request for help was received,"  
The ship shook again as weapons fire crashed over the nearly-depleted shields.  
"Tell them to hurry up!" Jall snapped.

"Two more scouts have been disabled!" Burke reported, one hand running over his panel, the other resting on the thigh of the pretty Matrian technician next to him.  
"But not destroyed?" Stafford asked.  
"Disabled," Burke confirmed.  
Stafford and Verethi stood together, watching the holographic display intently. The Matrian/Senousian/Starfleet forces had regrouped, as had the Qu'Eh. The Qu'Eh seemed reluctant to move within range of the defence satellites, even though they had the forces to overpower them. Verethi commented on as much.  
"They probably think their losses would to be too heavy to be worth it," Stafford said, "they can pick away at our ships from a distance, then take care of the satellites when they're the only defences we have left,"  
This was turning into the longest battle Stafford had ever witnessed in his career. Most of the time, it was one or two starships vs. one or two other starships. The fight would be over relatively quickly, with shields broken down and engines disabled or destroyed. Sometimes a handy nebula or planet would lead to a few hours of cat and mouse, but that was still fairly small-scale. The Dominion War had seen some pretty big fleet battles, but the Dominion War was the exception, not the rule.  
The battle over Matria Prime was shaping up to be a stamina run. Ships were being disabled and shields worn down, but both sides were now slowly rotating their ship positions, moving ships from the front of their formations to the rear as their shields weakened, giving them a chance to recharge while other ships took the brunt of the attack for a while. The star fighters were a pain in the ass to both sides, and as predicted the effort needed to swat at the tiny fighters was distracting both fleets from focusing their attacks on larger vessels.  
"Sir, Silverado's shields are down to 5 percent," one of the Matrian techs reported.  
"Move them back," Stafford ordered, "Bring the Pektoral and the Bosam into position,"  
"Those ships only have 65 percent shields," Verethi said, studying the two Senousian cruisers on the display, "They need more time to recharge!"  
"It's better than 5!" Stafford said.  
On the display, Silverado's icon moved deeper into the formation of ships. Stafford let out a small sigh of relief as her shield strength slowly started to increase again.  
"Have Silverado focus on taking out Qu'Eh fighters," Verethi ordered.  
"Belay that," Stafford said, "they don't have enough power to recharge their shields and attack at the same time!"  
"We gave you two warp reactors!" Verethi shot back.  
"Yeah, powerful enough to run a runabout, maybe!"  
"Your targeting scanners are more accurate than ours," Verethi said, "If your ship can keep the star fighters busy, we can focus our attack on the cruisers!"  
"No," Stafford said firmly, not taking his eyes off the display.  
Verethi lowered her voice.  
"If you do not order your ship to attack, Matrian lives will be lost!"  
"If I order them to attack, their lives could be lost!" Stafford hissed back.  
They glared at each other for a moment.  
"Of course," Verethi said stiffly, "It's only natural for you to feel that the lives of your people are more important…"  
Stafford's eyes blazed.  
"You know, considering you people tried to enslave us, I think we're being pretty damned supportive!" he snapped back, still keeping his voice low.  
"Oh yes, this is good for moral," Verethi said, "Let's fight in front of the underlings!"  
Stafford was about to tell Verethi where she could go shove her moral when a horrible thought occurred.  
She was right.  
Of course the lives of the people on Silverado were more important to him! Why the hell would he think otherwise? That was his ship and crew up there, and as much as everybody could talk about how the Matrians were now Federation citizens and how it was now his duty to help defend them, the truth was that they really hadn't done anything to earn that protection.  
Had they?

"Any new orders from HQ?" Jall asked.  
"Nothing so far," Wowryk said, "Shields are recharging, slowly. I think, anyway. I'm not sure how fast they usually recharge, but this seems pretty slow,"  
"How about the Matrians?"  
"Well, I think both sides have run out of tricks for the moment," Bith reported, "We're shooting at them, they're shooting as us, but now that both sides are rotating their ships around, neither side is doing as much damage."  
"This could take a while," Pye observed, running his hands over his panel, dodging some Qu'Eh weapon's fire. They watched on the screen as the other ships in the fleet danced and weaved; those closer to the Qu'Eh far more so than those further away.  
Not far from them a Matrian scout sparked, a Qu'Eh fighter having just scored a hit on their main reactor.  
Jall jumped out of his chair and joined Bith at tactical.  
"How are the Matrians cruisers doing against the fighters?"  
"Not very well," Bith reported, "Their targeting scanners aren't very accurate,"  
"What about ours?"  
"Better," she admitted, "But we're going to have a hard time restoring shields if our power is going into weapons, especially without Sylvia to help keep everything balanced."  
Jall thought for a moment.  
"Any suggestions?"  
"We could reduce our phaser power," Day suggested from Ops, "The shields on those fighters are fairly weak,"  
"Scale phaser power back to 50 percent," Jall ordered, "And see if you can pick off some of those fighters."

"Captain, I insist that you order your ship to attack!" Verethi hissed.  
Stafford was still staring at the display, his mind working over the situation. Maybe he could stall Verethi a bit, wait for Silverado's shields to recover a bit more, then give in and have them attack?  
That didn't seem very Starfleet, though.  
And that's what it boiled down to in the end, didn't it? He really didn't have the right to judge whether or not the Matrians had earned what he and his crew was giving them. They'd decided to join the Federation, he'd supported it, the Federation had concurred, and that was it. They were committed to defending this planet with everything they had.  
They why was he having such a hard time giving the order to put his ship back into danger?  
"Yanick," he swallowed, "Tell Jall-"  
"Sir," Burke interrupted, "Silverado is opening fire on the Qu'Eh fighters. Reduced phaser power."  
Stafford watched on the screen as one Qu'Eh fighter blinked out. Another followed, several seconds later.  
"Hmph," Verethi grunted, moving off to see to some other crisis.  
Stafford stared at the display. Silverado's shield-recharge rate was down, but the Qu'Eh fighters were suddenly a lot more cautious in their attack runs, now that more accurate guns were pointed their way. After a few minutes, the Matrian and Senousian star fighters, supported by Silverado, had taken the pressure off the cruisers, allowing them to focus more firepower on the Qu'Eh fleet.  
Stafford couldn't help but feel a rush of emotion at the decision his crew had made. It was a decision they'd made without him, under Jall's command, of all people. But he couldn't help it. To his surprise though, it wasn't loneliness or abandonment that came over him the next time he saw the tiny icon on the display.  
It was pride.  
There was a sudden flood in communications and sensor data.  
"Sir!" Burke shouted, "The Qu'Eh fleet is breaking off!"  
"What?" Stafford's attention snapped back to the attacking ships. Qu'Eh fighters were speeding away from the defending fleet at full speed, and the attacking fleet was wheeling around. After several moments of movement, the Qu'Eh fleet jumped into warp.  
"We did it!" Verethi exclaimed. There was a cheer from the Matrians as the ships in orbit confirmed the retreat.  
Stafford, Burke and Yanick exchanged glances. It didn't make sense for the Qu'Eh to retreat, not when they still had the advantage in numbers.  
Stafford tapped at the holo-display, zooming out to display the Matrian solar system rather than the space around Matria Prime. He was completely unsurprised to see the Qu'Eh fleet drop out of warp near the orbit of Matria V.  
"No," he said, "We didn't,"

"Ah still can't get through the Fifebee," Jeffery complained, tapping again at his Matrian comm-badge. The round badge, with six triangular indents along the edge, emitted a squeal of static, "There's some kind of jamming,"  
"Undoubtedly also the reason why we lost communications with the ship," T'Parief said.  
"Hmmm," Jeffery mumbled. What he wouldn't give for a Starfleet-issue tricorder and comm-badge!  
The two of them had left the transit station and were passing through the processing center/security checkpoint/whatever-the-hell-it-was, their boots clicking on the polished stone floor.  
"This is my plan," T'Parief was saying, "We begin with stealth. I will…disable a rebel, you will take his or her weapon. Once we are both armed, we will proceed to the control booth. If we can open the main hanger doors, it will be easier for us to escape."  
"Are ye sure ye'll be able to sneak up on one of them?" Jeffery asked.  
T'Parief simply stared at him.  
"Right,"  
They proceeded down the corridor to the force field wall. Jeffery again noticed the change in décor from the central section of the base. That area had warm colours, high ceilings and wide open spaces. This area was smaller, though the corridor was still larger than any of Silverado's, and the blue and red colourings and lights made it feel like Jeffery was walking through a giant artery. Also, while the corridors around the transit hub and laboratory had consisted of straight segments, this section had a gentle curve to it, like the corridors in Silverado's saucer. Of course, they knew from their earlier explorations that these corridors went on for what could be kilometres underground, connecting at least two and probably more hanger bays.  
T'Parief couldn't help but wonder what had led the Matrians to abandon the place. It clearly contained research facilities, ships, presumably repair and refuelling facilities and plenty of living space. The cavern between the central tower and this outer edge could hold an entire Sovereign-class starship! It could have made a huge difference in the war!  
On the other hand, the woman had controlled the facility, and the woman had won anyway. Maybe the place wouldn't have made that much of a difference after all.  
Jeffery approached the force field, then dropped to his knees and yanked open a wall panel.  
"Let's see if Ah remember how this worked," he muttered, "De-couple the isolinear…tetrahedron. That's a funny shape, eh? Meself, I like those isolinear rods the Cardassians have."  
"As does Yanick," T'Parief commented.  
"Ah don't want to know," Jeffery replied, "Cross circuit the secondary anodyne relay-"  
BBZZZZZZZTTTTTT!  
There was a spark and Jeffery jerked his hand back.  
"Oopsie," he muttered as the force field faded out. There was another shower of sparks from the panel.  
"Ah think Ah broke it," he muttered.  
"Irrelevant," T'Parief stated. He immediately moved to the intersection between this corridor and the next cross-corridor. He peered around the corner, eyes darting back and forth.  
It was empty.  
"This way," he gestured.

Fifebee stood next to the central stasis tube. She held a Matrian tricorder, and was attempting to scan the body in the tube. Valtaic had just finished a sweep of the lab. He'd found the computer terminals locked down and most of the equipment without power. As such, he'd returned to observe Fifebee's progress.  
"I wonder if there is a waste extraction facility on this level," he muttered.  
"I did notice one down the hall and two doors to your left," Fifebee said.  
"Excellent!" There was a slight instability in Fifebee's holo-relay as Valtaic's energy field pulsed in what she assumed was happiness. "Please, pardon me. I have a very large bowel movement to complete,"  
Fifebee gave a revolted shudder as Valtaic left. Honestly, humanoids! Ingesting plant and animal matter, discharging wastes and shooting liquified DNA at each other to procreate. The whole thing was vile!  
Her mind gave a little flip. Yes, yes they were vile. But at the same time, they were just so lovable! Like little kittens running around the cosmos. Little kittens that needed to be loved and nurtured and protected!  
Fifebee initiated a personality database reset, annoyed at the need to do so. The upgrade she'd received had resolved the personality conflicts she'd been experiencing, but recently they'd cropped up again. She would have to speak to Dr. Zimmerman, maybe to her sister 6-C as well.  
Fifebee felt a sudden rush of warm affection as she thought of her sister. She wondered if Zimmerman had any baby pictures he could show her?  
Fifebee initiated another personality database reset, returning her attention to the Matrian male in stasis. The Matrian tricorder wasn't quite on par with the Starfleet version, but she could tell that he was alive and appeared to be identical to modern-day Matrian men.  
He was also, she noticed, quite well endowed. She wondered what else the Matrian women had tweaked when they were 'upgrading' their men.  
She turned her attention to one of the other men in the room. He was definitely an un-altered Matrian male, though she really didn't understand why the Old Matrian women would keep them around.  
She was so absorbed in her scans that she almost didn't hear the hiss of the central stasis tube opening. Being a hologram, she did of course hear it. But there was a still a nanosecond or two of lag as the auditory input waited for her central program to acknowledge the input.  
She spun around just as the Matrian gasped, his eyes opening and darting around in confusion.  
Fifebee started looking around furiously, trying to find a control surface she might have brushed up against, a security device she might have triggered or any other explanation for why the tube had suddenly opened.  
"Did I do that?" she muttered angrily.

Stafford, invoking the power he apparently possessed as Matrian Minister of Planetary Defence, had called a meeting.  
Yanick and Burke hadn't been surprised. It seemed to be a standard Starfleet tactic: Something going wrong? Call a meeting! (Of course, this harkened far before the days of Starfleet, to the days of the corporations, the bureaucracies and the drone mentality of the 20th-Century militaries, but we digress.)  
The Matrians, however, were slightly surprised.  
"Why are we having a meeting?" Admiral Verethi was demanding, "Don't we have more important things to do?"  
"What do you expect?" Minister Laurette grumbled, pure venom in her tone, "The Queen put a MAN in charge of our defences!"  
"Maybe so," Verethi shot back, "But he did…" she trailed off, suddenly aware of the eyes on her.  
"Adequately," she finished, glaring at Stafford, almost disgusted with herself for admitting it.  
Stafford, Yanick and Burke had been joined by Queen Anselia, Admiral Verethi and Governess Laurette. Laurette, once Mistress Laurette, supreme leader of the Matrian Empire, was now head of the Matrian Opposition and as such had been invited. Stafford had his own reasons for wanting her there, but agreed with Anselia that keeping her in the loop would be the politically proper thing to do. The six of them sat in a rather opulent conference room in the high-security section of Matrian Planetary Defence HQ. It was much larger that Silverado's conference lounge and the real wood panelling, thick carpets, chandelier and hot-beverage service far outclasses anything on the starship. Still, Stafford missed his own conference room, his own table and his own crew.  
"OK, Burke, what do we know?" Stafford said, eager to get things over with.  
"Um, well," Burke said, activating the giant viewscreen that ran along one entire wall, "We attacked them, they attacked us, they retreated and now they're just sitting out by Matria V."  
"Let's go get them, then," Laurette snapped, "Kick that swine out of our system!"  
"If only," Verethi declared, "As usual, the Starfleet peon has poorly explained things,"  
"What does she mean 'as usual'?" Burke grumbled to Yanick.  
"We attacked the Qu'Eh with a…what did you call it?" Verethi asked Stafford.  
"Poisoned Pawn," Stafford answered.  
"We beg your pardon?" Anselia inquired politely.  
"It's a chess move," Stafford explained, "You send a pawn, a low-ranking piece, out against your enemy. You know he's going to kill it, but you use the opportunity to learn about his tactics, or to lure him into a position that works better for you,"  
"In this case," Verethi explained, "We used robot ships to lure the Qu'Eh within range of the weapons installation we found on Matria IV's moon. We managed to learn Qu'Eh weapon's frequencies and strengths,"  
"Clever," Anselia mused.  
"Yeah, we thought so too," Stafford grinned.  
"And then they attacked the planet," Laurette snapped, "Why did you allow that to happen, when you could have attacked them in the outer system?"  
"We have a more defensible position here," Stafford said, "And we managed to fight them off once. But now comes the hard part,"  
"They've levelled the playing field," Verethi interrupted, "They've had the chance now to scan our weapons frequencies, analyze our tactics and look for our weak points. They didn't retreat because they thought they might lose, they backed off because they know that if they come at us again with an assault tailored against us they can wipe us out with fewer losses to themselves!"  
Even Laurette looked disturbed at this.  
"We need to get unpredictable," Stafford said, "We also need to plan for the worst. Which is why I wanted you here, Laurette,"  
Laurette looked down her nose at him.  
"What could you possibly want from me?"

Jeffery and T'Parief crept carefully down the corridor, peering down every cross corridor they passed. There had been no sign of any Matrian rebels so far. They were close to the hanger bay control booth, needing only to climb two or three levels and traverse a few more stretches of corridor.  
There was a soft creak. T'Parief immediately stopped, his ears perking up and the tiny antennae nubs on his head twitching. Jeffery wasn't sure if he could actually sense anything from those stunted things, but whatever.  
T'Parief raised one finger. Jeffery frowned. Did that mean one Matrian, or wait one minute?  
He gestured at himself, then at the floor, then shrugged.

T'Parief stared at the stupid human, wondering what the hell was going through his head. There was a Matrian rebel approaching, just one. What part of one wasn't Jeffery understanding?  
He extended two figures downward, then pantomimed walking with his fingertips. He then held up one finger.

What the heck was that? Jeffery wondered. T'Parief wanted one of them to go out and attack the Matrian? No shit! The plan was for T'Parief to attack! Why was he telling Jeffery about it, unless there had been a change in plans? Maybe Jeffery was supposed to act as bait? Screw that!

Now Jeffery was shaking his head, pointing to the floor again. Yes, the Matrian was coming here. Was that what he meant? Or maybe Jeffery thought that T'Parief should stay back instead of attacking? What an absurd idea.

Frent walked calmly down the corridor. He knew his task, he knew his duties. Sooner or later one or more of the Starfleeters would show up, and it would be up to him to perform his task.  
Still, he wasn't expecting to simply walk around a corner and run into two Starfleet officers, huddled together making funny little hand gestures and glaring at each other.  
"Um," he stuttered, one hand going instinctively for his weapon.  
"Not now, we're busy!" the shorter, more Matrian-like one snapped.  
"But-"  
The larger green one spun around, one huge hand seeming to move almost in slow motion as it came around and caught Frent in the side of the head, sending him down into blackness.

Jeffery threw his hands up, an inquisitive look on his face. T'Parief gestured at the Matrian, then at Jeffery, then-  
` "WHY ARE WE STILL PLAYING CHARADES?" Jeffery suddenly shouted.  
T'Parief sighed.  
"Let's see if this one has a weapon," he said, frisking the unconscious Matrian.

Fifebee stared at the Matrian as he shuddered and convulsed; his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sparing a glance at the Matrian tricorder she held, she thought he was simply recovering from hibernation, but without knowing more about the technology used in the lab she really didn't know what was happening. Was this the same technology used by the Matrian women during their long slumber? If so, he'd wake up just fine. If not, there might be medical requirements, injections, treatments or therapies that he'd require. She had no med-kit! How could she help the poor man!  
A sudden instinct surged through her program.  
"Oh, you poor thing!" she cried, reaching for the shivering Matrian and easing him out of the tube and into a chair, "You poor, poor thing! Cooped up in there for so long! Oh, I bet what you really need right now is a hot cup of tea!"  
There was a hiss as the door to the lab opened and Valtaic returned.  
"Ahh, that feels much better," he said pleasantly, "Did you know that Matrian waste extraction facilities include automated cologne dispensers and a device that cleanses you with a jet of pleasantly warm water?" He took in the sight of Fifebee, hunched over a shivering, naked Matrian and sighed.  
"I suspect that at the moment you don't particularly care about my discoveries," he said, his energy field flashing slightly in annoyance.  
"Get a blanket! Or a med-kit!" Fifebee exclaimed, "This poor man could be dying! Look at the way he's shaking!"  
"He may simply be terrified of the insanely maternal hologram that is getting into his face," Valtaic said calmly, "Where is your objectivity, by the way?"  
Fifebee realized with dismay that yes, her actions since the tube had opened were extremely atypical for her. She completed yet another personality database reset. The surge of emotion faded. Instead of feeling panicked and worried for the man, she now felt a clinical concern for his well-being, along with extreme curiosity.  
"I do not know what keeps coming over me," she said, standing and analyzing the Matrian tricorder readings again, "It is as though the personalities in my database are running rampant. Most likely a programming fault, one I will correct as soon as possible,"  
There was a sudden commotion, and a series of hissing sounds. All around them the remainder of the stasis pods were opening, bursts of cold air falling into the room, followed by the whir of machinery as reanimation processes were begun. The 'advanced' Matrian looked around in panic, his eyes still unfocused, his expression one of complete confusion.  
"Oh dear," Fifebee muttered.

Jeffery and T'Parief encountered three more Matrians as they ventured towards the control room. Each was stunned before he or she had a chance to raise his or her weapon. There didn't appear to be any sign of alarm or any other indications that their presence had been reported. Within minutes, the double doors to the command booth were in sight.  
"Silverado to Jeffery," chirped his comm-badge.  
"Jeffery here!" Jeffery snapped, hitting the badge, "Jall! Ah'm glad to hear ya! Ah thought ye... How's the ship? The battle? Me engines!"  
"In one piece, taking an intermission, exploded over a week ago due to a virus and shall we say dinner and a movie next Tuesday?" Jall's voice came back, "And don't worry, I promise I'll be gentle,"  
"Ah'm not THAT glad to hear from ye, ye fruitcake-" Jeffery snarled.  
"Commander Jall," T'Parief growled, "We are about to complete an assault on the Matrian rebels that are keeping us within this facility,"  
"About that…"  
"We will call you back," T'Parief said.  
"But-"  
He cut off the channel.  
"One," T'Parief counted, "Two…THREE!"  
He hit the door panel and both he and Jeffery dove through, firing their stolen disruptors (set on stun) in all directions.  
"EAT ME SHORTS, M***RF***ERS!" Jeffery screamed.  
"I beg your pardon?"  
Mistress Juliani, leader of the Matrian rebels, stood calmly behind a force field, completely untouched by the stun blasts.  
"He has been watching too much television," T'Parief explained, keeping his weapon pointed at her. Three rebels ran in from behind them. Before they could do anything, T'Parief spun around, shot all three, then returned his attention to Juliani.  
"Will you stop that, please?" Juliani asked calmly.  
"You wish for me to stop shooting your lackeys, so they may have the chance to shoot me?" T'Parief growled.  
"No, you idiot," Juliani sighed, "I wish for you to stop shooting my 'lackeys', as you put it, long enough for one of them to deliver my grakking surrender, dammit!"  
"Huh?"  
Juliani crossed her arms.  
"In case you haven't noticed, a rather large fleet of alien ships is trying to invade our planet!" she snapped, "We were watching what we could of the battle from here, and saw your ship going to great lengths to help defend us, alongside the Senousians." She looked like she was trying to swallow something that tasted really, really sour, "We decided that maybe the Federation wasn't such a bad thing after all. Of course, we couldn't actually communicate our surrender to your ship until the Qu'Eh fleet retreated and the jamming faded, but I would have expected them to have told you by now!"  
"So that's what Jall wanted," Jeffery said to T'Parief as the latter slowly lowered his weapon. Juliani let the force field drop.  
"The Qu'Eh are in retreat?" T'Parief finally asked.  
"For now. They are still within the solar system and will undoubtedly be attacking again shortly." Juliani gestured to one corner of the room, "By the way, you may have your equipment back,"  
Jeffery ran over and grabbed his comm-badge, tricorder and engineering kit from the pile of stolen Starfleet gear.  
"Come to papa!" he cried, hugging his engineering kit to his chest. He fished around for a comm-badge.  
"Jeffery to Stafford," he called, tapping the badge.  
"Jeffery!" Stafford's voice was relieved, "Thank God! You're OK?"  
"Yeah," Jeffery said, "The rebels-"  
"Surrendered, I know. We got the message about 10 minutes ago, when the jamming finally dropped."  
Jeffery started to fill Stafford in on what they'd found, not noticing the look of sudden horror on Juliani's face.  
"That doesn't matter," Stafford cut him off, "Look, Jeffery, the Qu'Eh are going to be back for another round, and there are some things that need to be done. Beam back to the ship for now, both of you, but don't get too comfortable. I have a job for you."

Fifebee and Valtaic stood helplessly in the center of the lab as male after male tumbled from the stasis tubes, shuddering and moaning.  
"It is like a Birthing Center," Valtaic said nervously, "Only the babies are very large,"  
"I dislike babies, and the idea of giving birth," Fifebee said calmly. Still, part of her felt a brief sense of such longing that she nearly shuddered, "What are we to do? We have no food, nor additional clothing!"  
"Perhaps we should attempt to put them back into stasis?" Fifebee mused.  
"Probably not a good idea," Valtaic replied.  
One of the Matrians started speaking. To Valtaic, who was without his universal translator, the words were gibberish. Fifebee, however, understood perfectly.  
"Where are we? What happened? Is it time for food now?"  
"I am Lieutenant Commander Jane Fifebee of the Federation Starship Silverado," Fifebee said, invoking the standard introduction, "Um, we come in peace, and apologize for any post-hibernation discomfort you may currently be experiencing."  
"Post-what?"  
"Hibernaty?"  
"Where's my Captain Mistress underweaer?"  
"This room looks funny,"  
Replies were coming in from multiple directions as more and more of the Matrians started to recover. Fifebee conveyed some of what was being said to Valtaic.  
"I sense," Valtaic said, "That these Matrians are not the strongest energy field generators in the matrix array,"  
"I agree," Fifebee said, arching an eyebrow.  
Her Matrian comm-badge chimed.  
"Fifebee here,"  
"Fifebee!" Jeffery's voice came back, "Ye OK? Everything good?"  
"Good enough," Fifebee said cautiously.  
"Stay where ye are," Jeffery ordered, "I'm back on the ship, the rebels surrendered, blah blah blah. The Qu'Eh are going to attack again soon, and we have stuff to do. Ah'll be back shortly!"  
"Bring food!" Valtaic called, "And some extra cloths while you're at it,"  
"Why?"  
"We've hit a complication," Fifebee quickly explained the situation.  
"Uh-oh," Jeffery muttered, "Well, whatever. See you shortly. Jeffery out,"  
"Do you ever get the feeling," Valtaic asked calmly, "That events are moving too quickly for you to keep track of them?  
"Frequently," Fifebee nodded.  
"Ohh! Look at the shiny object!" one of the Matrians exclaimed, pointing to a lab bench and almost running towards the device Fifebee had identified as a gene resequencer.  
"No!" Fifebee exclaimed, swatting his hands away. The Matrian looked crestfallen.  
"Here, play with this," she grumbled, tossing a blank padd in his direction. The Matrian looked at her dumbly. Sighing, she pressed the power button on the padd. The Matrian's face lit up as he saw the bright colours on the screen.  
"Yay!" he exclaimed.  
Fifebee returned to Valtaic's side.  
"What are they saying now?" he asked.  
"It does not matter," she muttered, "Suffice it to say, we have found a race of Yanicks,"  
Valtaic slapped his hand over his face.

"What do you mean you surrendered?" Governess Laurette snapped, "How could you do such a stupid thing?"  
"We're being invaded by aliens," Juliani shot back, "We can't afford to be fighting the Federation at the same time! "  
"That is MY decision to make," Laurette shot back, "Not yours! Do you know how hard it was for me to find that installation? The Old Matrians did a very good job of erasing it from existence! And now you've practically handed control of it over to Starfleet!"  
"They haven't been able to figure it out any more than I have!" Juliani said.  
"They found their way into the Command Tower, which is more than I can say for you!"  
"For all the good it did them!" Juliani defended herself, "The whole place is locked down like a vault, Command Tower or not!"  
The two women glared at each other for a few moments.  
"They did find…unaltered men," Juliani admitted.  
"WHAT?" Laurette screamed.  
"There was a stasis room," Juliani said, "They found the men there and woke them up by accident."  
"No, no, NO!" Laurette slammed her hand down on her console, "Now, listen to me carefully! Give nothing away to the Starfleeters! This Qu'Eh situation is a problem, but I have a plan. And in order for it to work, those men MUST NOT escape that facility!"  
"But, what do you want me to do?"  
"Stay in contact with me," Laurette said, "Don't leave the facility. I don't have time to fill in the details, but suffice it to say that I'll be in a much better position to give orders after this whole thing is over with,"  
"As you say, Mistress," Juliani bowed.

"You look funny, mister,"  
"Maybe so," Valtiac said, addressing the somewhat dim-witted Matrian, "But I have something you will never have,"  
"Really?" the Matrian looked around, "Is it a cookie?"  
"No, it is not a cookie,"  
"Is it a puppy?"  
"No, it is not a puppy,"  
Valtiac briefly considered asking Fifebee to remove the translation matrix she'd added to his Matrian comm-badge.  
As Valtaic and the Matrian continued their game of 500 questions, Fifebee sat next to the altered Matrian. He was still pale and quivering, though his eyes had finally come into focus.  
"I do not understand why the hibernation process is affecting him differently from the others," she said, partly to Valtaic but mostly to herself.  
"What's your name?" she asked, trying again to speak to the man.  
He said nothing, merely staring at her blankly.  
"Why are your bio-signs all out of whack?" she muttered, tapping at her borrowed tricorder. His neurotransmitter levels weren't returning to their proper levels and his blood chemistry was a mess.  
"C-Craigen," he said, his voice still shaky.  
"Craigen," Fifebee replied, her attention switching from the tricorder to the man, "Pleasure to meet you. I apologize for not having a hot cup or tea or a pair of pants handy, but we really weren't planning on waking you up."  
Craigen looked at her in confusion.  
"However," Fifebee continued, "If I may say so, a man of your physique need not worry about walking around the place nude,"  
Craigen said nothing.  
"Tough crowd," Fifebee muttered.

"This place is, like, totally awesome!" Crewman Gibson exclaimed, "It's like we're gonna be camping out!"  
"Shut up," Jeffery said, "Yer here to work!"  
The two of them had beamed just outside the hanger bay of the Matrian installation. While T'Parief and the security team he'd beamed down with started rounding up the Matrian rebels, Gibson had gone inside and setup an array of transport enhancers. No sooner had he snapped the last one into place then a large pallet of cargo containers materialized on the floor between them.  
"The area is secure," T'Parief reported, "And we have located a convenient storage room in which to lock the Matrian rebels,"  
"Great," Jeffery said. He and Gibson pushed the anti-gravity pallet to one side, just in time for a fresh pallet to materialize, "Ye wanna get somebody to help stoner-boy here while we get Fifebee the stuff she needs?"  
"Of course," T'Parief nodded.  
A short time later, they rode the tram through the darkened cavern, several boxes of supplies piled up onto an anti-grav unit. They found Valtaic and Fifebee still in the same lab, Valtiac arguing pointlessly with several of the unaltered Matrians while Fifebee tapped at her tricorder.  
"We brought pants," Jeffery called, by way of introduction.  
"Oh, good," Valtiac said, "I have experienced enough of this…what is the human term? Sausage-fest?"  
"Indeed," T'Parief commented. He started unpacking the supplies they'd brought, much to the delight of the Matrians.  
"Stafford to Jeffery," Stafford's voice came over the comm.  
"Aye?"  
"How's it going?"  
"We're workin' on it," Jeffery said, "The last of the supplies should be down, Pysternzyks should be beaming the-"  
"Hurry up," Stafford cut him off, "We're out of time. The Qu'Eh are positioning themselves for another attack run! And I don't think they're going to be gentle this time!"  
"Why is everybody usin' that expression today?" Jeffery wondered.  
"Just tell me you're ready to go over there!"  
"Aye, we're ready."  
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a war to run! Stafford out."  
Jeffery and T'Parief exchanged glances.  
"Ah think this 'Minister of Defence' thing is goin' to his head," Jeffery commented.  
"Possibly," T'Parief agreed. He still held one pair of pants in his hand, "Was one of the Matrians killed? I still have garments."  
"Ah don't think so," Jeffery said, looking around.  
"Pity. I could have used these to mop up the blood," T'Parief mused.  
"Hey, where did Craigen go?" Fifebee asked, looking up from her tricorder.  
"Uh-oh,"

Two levels up, Craigen pulled himself out of the stairwell, panting. It had taken longer than he would have liked, but he'd gotten away! He wasn't sure what had happened, or what had been done to him, but he did know one thing: The women wouldn't catch him this time!

End.


	16. Turtling

Star Traks: Silverado

4.16 "Turtling"

"I don't want to do the voice-over," Captain Christopher Stafford complained, "I'm tired. Do you know how long it's been since I slept?"  
"At least yer sittin' in a comfy office," Lt. Commander Simon Jeffery whined, "Ah was walkin' all over this huge, underground-"  
"We took the tram," Commander T'Parief cut in, "And you fell asleep on the way back to the genetics lab,"  
"Hey, shut up!"  
"I also refuse to do the voiceover," Lt. Commander Jane Fifebee stated flatly, "I have been stuck in this lab under tonnes of rock and playing babysitter to a dozen mentally immature Matrian men! I do not know what has been happening in the outside world."  
"We're about to get our asses kicked," Commander San Jall joined in, "The Qu'Eh came in and attacked us. The Matrians gave them a bloody nose, but they're gonna come back and squish us all like bugs,"  
"What I would like to know," T'Parief spoke up, "is why we are bringing cargo down to this underground Matrian installation?"  
"Because I said so," Stafford said, "Hey, has anybody seen the Hazardous Team lately?"  
"They are in Matronus," T'Parief reported, "Preparing the Matrian police forces to fight off a Qu'Eh invasion,"  
"Right. I knew that,"  
"So like, what happens if the Qu'Eh win?" Lieutenant Trish Yanick asked.  
"Don't think that way," Stafford said, "We can beat them."

Captain, er, Minister of Planetary Defence Christopher Stafford shook his head. That was an odd dream. Well, he was overtired. And it was nice to have his crew around, even if it was just a dream. A very informative dream, for that matter.  
"Are you finished drooling on the tactical table?" Admiral Verethi, Commander in Chief of the Matrian Defence Force asked.  
"Huh?" Stafford looked around. Sure enough, rather than being in his comfy office just off the War Room, he'd apparently dozed off sitting at the tactical control table; tiny holographic spacecraft flying through his head as the Matrian fleet (along with Silverado) repositioned themselves.  
"I hear that kinda thing can cause brain cancer," Yanick pointed out, stifling a yawn as a holographic star fighter flew out of Stafford's mouth.  
"I'd be worried, if we hadn't cured that about three centuries ago." Stafford muttered, moving out of range of the holo-display, "Anything new on the Qu'Eh?"  
"They're still repositioning their ships," Ensign Burke reported. The pretty Matrian technician had passed out next to him, "They still haven't moved any closer than the orbit of Matria V."  
The Qu'Eh fleet had been 'repositioning themselves' for nearly three hours now. Stafford didn't know what they had in mind for the final assault, but part of him wished they'd just get on with it already.

Aboard the Qu'Eh ships, Assistant Sub-Manager Drek was almost ready to fall asleep.  
Sub-Manager Fretin was in his quarters, sleeping. Manager Pres was in his quarters, sleeping. The Supervisors, the Executives and even Chairman P'tareck were sleeping. Only a few Assistant Sub-Managers were manning their stations, watching the long-range sensors in case the Matrian and Starfleet forces made any moves.  
Drek doubted they would. It was a brilliant move on Chairman P'tareck's part: Give the Qu'Eh some time to rest and recuperate while the defending forces scrambled around in a panic. Drek didn't know what they were doing with their time, but he doubted they'd be resting.

"Thank God it's nap-time," Jeffery sighed. He was sitting at one of the computer terminals in the genetics lab. Now that he had his equipment, he was once again trying to break into the installations computer systems.  
"Yes," Valtaic agreed, sitting wearily on a stool, "I had no idea that adults could be so tiring,"  
They were referring to the dozen Matrian men who had somehow been revived from hibernation. Unlike modern Matrian males, these men had not been subject to genetic engineering and, as such, were not the brightest light bulbs in the box.  
"While they may physically be adults, I believe the mental age of the unaltered Matrian men is considerably lower," Fifebee said. Her holographic nature didn't require sleep, but her processing algorithms had been running full-tilt for hours now, and her data analysis and storage subroutines could use a chance to get caught up.

"I could use rest myself," Valtaic said wearily.  
"I hope you've all had enough to eat," Fifebee chided the two men, "And I really do suggest that you both get some sleep! Ugh! If we had a replicator, I could make a nice cup of tea, or maybe some grilled cheese sandwhiches!"  
"Perhaps that is a good-"  
"Blimey!" Jeffery shot up, nearly knocking a bizarre contraption off the table. He reached out, steadied the device (which could have been anything from a coffee maker to a doomsday bomb) and then turned to face Fifebee.  
"Ah keep forgetting, have ye been having any trouble with yer personality systems lately?"  
Fifebee looked at him in surprise.  
"Is it that noticeable?" she asked, turning red, "I am sorry, I didn't mean-"  
"Nay, it's fine," Jeffery said, "But do ye mind if Ah took a look?"  
Fifebee looked nervously at Jeffery, the sort of look you'd give a doctor when told to strip down, turn your head and cough.  
"Very well," she said stiffly.  
Jeffery quickly found Fifebee's holo-relay, which had been stashed on one corner. He started tapping at the control panel, eyes moving quickly over the display.  
"Ye've been resetting yer personality matrix a lot," he said.  
"Yes," Fifebee nodded, "I have been having difficulties with errant personalities lately. My last upgrade should have fixed that, but-"  
"Ah need ye to stop," Jeffery cut her off.  
"Why?" Fifebee asked, looking on curiously as Jeffery ran over to one of the newly delivered supply crates and started rummaging around. He pulled out a sealed case and opened it up.  
"Because," he said, pulling out Sylvia's module, "Ah think ye've found something we lost,"

Lieutenant Commander David Stern was taking a walk in the park.  
"So, these are our new orders from Matrian Defence HQ, huh?" he commented, glancing at a padd that had been delivered to him by a rather striking Matrian female.  
"Apparently," Lieutenant Rengs shrugged. With T'Parief still caught up with whatever was happening out in the Matrian desert, Stern was acting commander of the Hazardous Team, Silverado's band of not-so-elite security officers. Rengs was filling Stern's usual position of second-in-command. They had been helping to train the Matrian ground forces, such as they were. The Matrians had a single organization acting as both army and police force, and it consisted almost entirely of untrained volunteers along with a few former officers of the Matrian Empire. Of course, those officers had been working under the brainwashing effects of Matrian SIDs during their time on ship, but it was better than nothing.  
The park they were in happened to be right across the street from the Matrian Grand Council Chambers. It also happened to be the most convenient beam-down point for any forces who might want to take control of the Matrian government.  
And, thanks to some preparations by the Hazardous Team and the Matrian Defence Force, it was now a kill-zone.  
Matrian heavy disruptorHazs had been setup on heavy tripods. Portable shield generators had been carefully positioned in front of the weapons emplacements, and stun grenades had been buried at strategic locations. The same was being done in other strategic positions around the Council Chambers and in other Matrian cities. The big question was how many ground troops the Qu'Eh could actually deploy…or if they would just try to blow everything apart from space.  
"Dar'ugal and Kreklor will be beaming in shortly," Rengs reported, "And Marsden is on his way back from J'Taeri."  
"Where's Simmons?" Stern asked.  
"He, uh, accidentally blew up a statue that the people in the city of Melden were very fond of. We're trying to get him to stop running long enough to get a transporter lock,"  
"I'm not surprised," Stern said, looking at Rengs, "Are you surprised?"  
"I'm not surprised,"  
"I'm REALLY not surprised."  
"Yeah, me neither,"

Commander San Jall was seated in Stafford's ready room, head in his hands.  
He was tired, very tired. Everybody was; they'd been running full-tilt for a couple of days now. Only coffee, tea or lattes was keeping a lot of them running, and that was a dangerous way to go into a fight.  
Massaging his temples, he pulled up the latest status reports. They'd finished all the beaming Stafford had ordered, sending all sorts of stuff down to the team exploring the underground Matrian installation. The Hazardous Team was in place. There was also a communication from Queen Anselia regarding some ground-level contingency plans that Jall knew were going to piss Stafford off to no end. Part of him wanted to comm the captain immediately and fill him in on what Anselia had planned, but the rest of him agreed whole-heartedly with her ideas. And with her opinion that sharing them with Stafford now would only complicated matters. (Well, they might not complicate things, but Stafford would be pissed beyond belief when she sprang that little surprise on him.)  
Now he just needed some ideas of his own.  
He ran the numbers again and took a close look at the tactical footage from the first space fight. He compared Qu'Eh weapon strength with Matrian/Senousian/Federation shield specs. He analyzed the ship movements, strategies and comparative strengths. And he came again to the same conclusion:  
There was no possible way they could win this fight. They were outnumbered and outgunned.  
He pulled up the latest message from Stafford. The captain had pretty much come to the same conclusion as Jall. Looking at the screen, he re-read the last line of the message.  
'You know what you're going to have to do.'  
"Bridge to Commander Jall," the comm chirped, "Sir! The Qu'Eh fleet just jumped to full impulse! Time to intercept is 10 minutes!"  
Jall punched the 'off' button on the terminal.  
"On my way,"

"Stafford to Jeffery,"  
"Aye? Ah'm here," Jeffery replied, tapping his comm-badge.  
"Are things ready over there?"  
"Aye, they are. Oh, and Chris-"  
"Good. I want you and T'Parief to go back to that command center you found. If you have any ideas or strategies, I'm going to want to hear them,"  
"Aye, but-"  
"And make sure you keep routing all your comm traffic through encrypted channels! We can't risk the Qu'Eh finding that place!"  
"But-"  
"And tell Fifebee to stop playing with the boys and help you!"  
"I resent that, Captain," Fifebee replied, "And, you should know, one of the 'boys', as you say, has escaped and is running free in the complex,"  
"Well catch him!"  
"He's just scared and confused," Fifebee said, "And very naked, actually. If I can talk to the man, I'm sure I can calm him down. We can do some deep-breathing, maybe a bit of yogo-"  
"Jeffery," Stafford's voice was flat, "Did you break my science officer?"  
"Nay. I found Sylvia,"  
"WHAT?"  
"I was tryin' to tell ye, ye git!" Jeffery snapped. In the background, Valtaic started to chuckle, "From what I can tell, when the computer virus was trying to wipe her out, she hid her personality programming in Fifebee's personality database!"  
"Interesting," Valtaic said, no longer chuckling, "Why did she not simply tell us?"  
"Because," Stafford cut in, able to figure this part out for himself, "She's a living being, not a hologram. She might have stored the programming part of herself in Fifebee's database, but she can't really live without her brain, right?"  
"Exactly!' Jeffery said, "So, ye see, all I have to do is transfer her program back to the gel-pack, and she'll be right as rain!"  
"Then why the heck haven't you done that already, Simon?!" Fifebee snapped.  
"Ah gotta be sure I get all of her," Jeffery said, "That's why Ah need ye to stop the database resets. If ye let Sylvia's personality profile become as dominant as possible, it'll be easier for me to be sure Ah've got it all,"  
"And my own personality?"  
"That thing has so many safety protocols on it, Ah couldn't screw it up if Ah tried," Jeffery smirked.  
Fifebee gave him a very dirty look.  
"Er, not that Ah've ever thought about tryin',"  
"Jeffery, I have to go," Stafford said suddenly, "Do what you think best, but I want somebody in that command room keeping an eye on the fight. Stafford out,"  
"Somebody needs a nap," Fifebee observed.  
"Good, go with that," Jeffery said, "Think about naps. And burping. Oh, and breast-feeding! Focus on your inner Sylvia!"  
"We are sitting in an underground installation whose purpose is still largely unknown while this planet is about to be attacked and you are trying to exorcise a computerized personality by talking to it about breast-feeding," Valtaic mused, "Could this situation possibly get any stranger?"  
"With this crew?" Fifebee commented, "That is a stupid question,"  
"I see," Valtiac inclined his head.

"Do you see anything?" Simmons asked.  
"Jall put his 'Honk if You're Hot & Horny' bumper-sticker back on the port nacelle," Stern replied, "Other than that, no,"  
The tall officer was seated in the command post that had been hastily setup in front of the council buildings. He had a pair of micro-binoculars aimed at the sky and planned on watching as much of the battle as he could. After all, if the Qu'Eh broke past the defence fleet, they would probably start beaming down troops.  
"I'm sure that Silverado could have beamed down something a bit better than binoculars if you'd asked," Rengs commented.  
"Yeah, well," Stern shrugged, "I forgot,"  
The micro-binoculars may have been a fairly primitive piece of Federation technology, but they were still more than capable of detecting vessels in orbit and creating simple, visual images with a reasonably degree of clarity. Stern had bought this particular pair when he was at Starfleet Academy, having found that there was nothing quite like lying on the grass outside of Fort Pike and looking up through starship windows at changing women. (And men, and various hermaphroditic entities. Stern was a strange one, all right.)  
It didn't take long for the Qu'Eh fleet to become visible.  
"Oh, wow," Stern breathed.  
"Can I have the binoculars for a minute?" Rengs asked.  
"Yeah, sure," Stern said, "Later,"  
Rengs sighed.

It was almost like the early battle had been a dress rehearsal. One of those dress rehearsals where things go as planed and you have a good feeling about the actual wedding. Or badging ceremony, or whatever.  
Silverado, the only Federation starship within a few hundred light-years, hovered between Matria Prime and the oncoming fleet. Her shields were recharged, her weapons were hot and her hull gleamed in the light of the Matrian star. Her nacelle grills however, were dark, the characteristic blue glow of her warp engines deadened by the lack of warp core. In her engineering hull, the two Matrian warp reactors pumped as much plasma as they could into her power grid, but they just couldn't meet the demand.  
Surrounding Silverado the remaining Matrian and Senousians ships were looking considerably more rag-tag than they had before. The Qu'Eh had disabled several vessels, and the repairs made to them were hasty at best. Several of the lumpy, cylindrical Matrian vessels had visible weapon's damage and some were missing pieces of the extensive sensor and weapons arrays that stuck out in all directions from the aft end of the ship, giving them their broom-like appearance. The Senousian cruisers, sleeker (and disturbingly phallic) in their design had likewise taken a beating. Noticeably fewer scouts and star-fighters flew in the formations surrounding the cruisers. Behind the ships, hovering over the planets atmosphere, the remaining defence satellites were just completing their recharge cycles.  
The Qu'Eh fleet was also showing the impact of the previous battle. The number of ships had shrunk significantly, though they still outnumbered the allied fleet. Many ships had visible damage and their star fighter squadrons were nearly wiped out.  
Commander Jall stood on the bridge of Silverado, eyeing the tactical reports. The Matrians had tried to even out the odds during the first battle, first by luring a Qu'Eh cruiser to one of the abandoned planets in the system and using an old planetary defence cannon to destroy it. They'd also used unarmed scouts to determine the exact frequency being used by the Qu'Eh weapons, thus being able to fortify their shields against Qu'Eh attack. The question would be whether or not the Qu'Eh had grown wise to that little trick.  
"They'll be in weapons range in one minute," Ensign Bith reported from tactical. She had visible bags under her eyes, and Jall could only wish his officers could have had the chance to get a bit more rest during the 'intermission'.  
"No more playing nice," Jall said firmly, "This time, we're putting our purses down and smacking these bastards with both hands!"  
"Oy vay," Quintaine moaned, resting his head against the science console.

"You know," Rengs said, "You could have brought down a small holo-emitter, or a screen or something so the rest of us could watch that thing,"  
"Yeah, well," Stern shrugged, "I forgot,"  
"You didn't forget anything else, did you? Extra power packs for the phasers? Body armour? Anything?"  
"Nope, not a…" Stern looked around, "Has anybody seen my hand phaser?"  
Rengs looked around carefully, hoping none of the Matrians were listening.  
"Here it is," Stern grunted, holstering his phaser and returning his attention to the sky. He could tell by the glimmers of energy at their weapons ports that the defending ships were preparing to fire.  
"At least let me hook the damned things into this padd!"  
"Whatever, whatever,"  
Rengs quickly made the connection. The small screen came to life, just in time for him to see Silverado's phasers firing.

Commander T'Parief had just arrived in the underground control room he, Jeffery, Valtaic and Fifebee had located earlier. Crewman Gibson was pushing another anti-grav pallet loaded with supply crates out of the turbolift next to him. T'Parief could see by the flickering lights that the holographic display, two levels above them in the large, rounded chamber, were still active. He sprinted up one set of stairs to the ring-shaped second level, then up another set to the circular command platform that sat atop the turbolift column. The six huge, curved control consoles that ringed the platform were still dead, but the central display table was displaying the same tactical display as before; a holographic image of Matria Prime with tiny, holographic ships flying around. As he watched, the defending fleet fired phasers, disruptors, photon and quantum torpedoes and even a few modulated deflector pulses at the Qu'Eh fleet. One Qu'Eh ship, having already sustained several phaser and torpedo hits, was struck with deflector pulse right in what appeared to the ship's bridge. Nearby Qu'Eh vessels scattered as the decapitated vessel starting to spin out of control.

"HEAD SHOT!" announced the tactical table in its deep, resonant voice. Stafford jumped, looking for all the world like he'd sat on a tack.  
"I wonder who programmed that thing," Admiral Verethi wondered.  
"It doesn't seem very professional," Stafford said, trying to regain his dignity.  
"But it's more fun," Yanick piped in, "By the way, the fleet reports that they've engaged the Qu'Eh,"  
"Thanks for that," Stafford said, watching on the table as the Qu'Eh returned fire. One Matrian cruiser, the Bill of Feminine Rights, was struck by multiple Qu'Eh weapons. Her shields flickered and faded, the hull taking several shots before another ship, the Male Ego, pulled in front, taking on the brunt of the attack so the other ship could get her shields back up.  
"I'm sure there's a joke or a smart comment here," Stafford said, surveying the scene, "But I think it's the kind of joke I should leave to Jall,"  
"We have been meaning to re-name all our vessels," Admiral Verethi said, "to better represent the new, united nature of the Matrian people,"  
"What's taking so long?" Stafford asked, watching as the Male Ego's shields started to flicker. The Senousian cruiser Fallic pulled into position, taking the heat off the Male Ego. The Bill of Feminine Rights, her shields still very weak, moved behind Silverado, firing her weapons at the Qu'Eh fleet whenever an opportunity presented itself.  
"Bureaucracy," Verethi shrugged.

Aboard Silverado, Jall watched as the Male Ego took the hit for the Bill of Feminine Rights.  
"I'm pretty sure there's a gag here," he said, "But I think it's the kind of gag that Stafford would better appreciate."  
"I really think that the Matrians need to think about renaming their ships," Lieutenant Pye chirped.  
"They're working on it," Lieutenant Day chimed in, "But do you know how much paperwork there is in the Matrian bureaucracy when it comes to renaming a ship?"  
"Have you forgotten about me?" Dr. Wowryk asked, clinging to the first officer's chair as the ship shook, "I, for one, think it's very fitting that the Male Ego is suffering for-"  
"Nobody forgot about you, Doc," Jall said, "The thing is, you'd take the situation far too seriously to make it funny,"  
"I'm funny!" Wowryk objected, "Just last week I had Crewman Shwaluk laughing in Sickbay!"  
"He wasn't laughing because of your jokes," Pye said, "He was laughing because you had your hand on his-"  
"It was a MEDICAL EXAMINATION!" Wowryk snapped, "I have to put my hands in strange places!"  
"I take it back," Jall giggled, then grunted as the next weapons hit knocked him out of the command chair and onto the carpeted deck, "She can be funny,"  
"Yeah," Day said, trying to transfer more power to the shields, "But we're laughing at her, not with her,"  
Wowryk was about to shoot something back, when somebody actually shot something real (as opposed to metaphorically) at the ship (as opposed to a person), causing it to shake.  
"Shields down to 80%!" Bith reported, "We've got two Qu'Eh cruisers concentrating their fire on us!"  
"This is Matrian HQ to all ships," Stafford's voice rang over the comm, "The Qu'Eh have changed weapons frequencies. We're trying to get the new shields modulations up to you, but until then, uh, try not to get hit too much. HQ out."  
"Well then," Jall said, climbing back into his seat, "Now's as good a time as any. Target one of those ships and fire the big guns!"  
"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, you pervert!" Wowryk muttered.  
"Oh, sweety," Jall said, patting her hand, "One day, you'll understand,"  
"Eww," Wowryk yanked her hand back and started looking around the bridge for one of those handy little hand-disinfectant dispensers.

On the ground, Stern, Rengs and the rest of the Hazardous Team were watching the unfolding space battle on the tiny padd screen. Beams of energy and balls of light filled the space between the two fleets, splashing against shields or digging into hulls. A pair of Qu'Eh cruisers were concentrating their fire on Silverado, at least until Silverado opened up with her phaser cannon. A dozen or so fat bolts of phaser energy flashed out from the emitter mounted under the forward edge of her saucer, spearing one of the cruisers dead on. The enemy ships shields held against the first half-dozen shots before failing. The remaining shots ripped into the ship's hull, leaving the ship dead in space. A torpedo from a nearby Matrian vessel finished the job, sending the Qu'Eh ship up in a massive fireball.  
"Nice shot," Simmons giggled.  
"Yeah, too bad they can't use the damned thing again," Marsden said.  
"Man, if that ship had a warp core, we could kick those Qu'Eh back to where they came from!" Simmons said, slapping Rengs on the back.  
"And if we had gagh, we could have gagh and blood wine!" Kreklor declared loudly, hunting around the command post for something to eat.  
"If we had blood wine," Marsden mused.

Stafford was frantically shouting orders.  
"Get that fighter squadron back here! If they keep geeting too close to the Qu'Eh ships, we're going to loose them!"  
"The Male Ego needs cover," Verethi snapped, "Their shields are almost depleted!"  
"We have no more ships available!" one of the technicians reported, "We've got widespread shield failure on all our ships!"  
Stafford quickly found Silverado's icon on the holographic display. Her shields were down to 50%. She'd taken out two Qu'Eh cruisers already, but several more were starting to focus their fire on her engineering hull.  
"The Male Ego has been disabled!" somebody called out, "Their engines are down, they're adrift!"  
"The Senousian Cruiser Fallic is heavily damaged! They report several forward sections have been breached!"  
"I'm getting reports that fighter squadron Stingray Alpha has been destroyed! We have ejected pilots drifting in space!"  
"Contact the Asessippi and the Niagra, have then commence beam-outs immediately!" Stafford ordered.  
On the holo screen, the tiny runabouts had broken off from their positions leading one of the star-fighter squadrons and were now hovering behind Silverado, using the larger ships shields for cover as their crews scanned for and retrieved Matrian pilots now free-floating in space.

"T'Parief to Fifebee,"  
"Yes, sweety?"  
T'Parief frowned. Fifebee's voice, normally cool and formal, had a friendly overture that just sounded…unnatural. He quickly dismissed the thought as irrelevant and continued.  
"The Matrian fleet is failing," he said bluntly, "I estimate that the Qu'Eh will be within beaming range of the planet in less than half an hour,"  
Jeffery's voice came over the comm.  
"They're not gonna find us under here," he said, "Not with that interference field up and running,"  
"Yes," T'Parief agreed, "But, as you recall, HQ has plans for us. I would suggest that you put those into place immediately,"  
"Why don't ye just order Gibson…" Jeffery trailed off, "Oh yeah. Ah'm in command. Thank ye for the suggestion. Gibson! Valtaic! Get yer asses out to the hanger bay!"  
"Perhaps now," Valtaic's voice came over the comm, "You can explain to us what these mysterious 'plans' are all about?"  
"Aye," Jeffery's voice took on a note of defeat.  
"It means we've got company on the way,"

"Oh, this isn't good," Stern commented, still looking through the micro-binoculars.  
"The Qu'Eh fleet is winning," Rengs observed, watching the tiny display screen on his padd.  
"Which means we better get ready for company," Stern said, letting the binoculars fall. (And inducing nausea in anybody watching the display, which had swung around wildly before showing a view looking down the front of Stern's uniform towards his crotch.)  
The Hazardous Team was now gathered in front of the Matrian Grand Council building. The scattered and slightly rag-tag Matrian ground forces were positioned in the parks and ornamental gardens surrounding the building, hiding behind portable shields, readying hand weapons, stationary defence cannons and even a few stun-grenade launchers. Most of the weaponry was Matrian, having been found in the same armouries where, presumably, it'd been packed away at the conclusion of the Gender Wars. Stern and the HT were carrying Starfleet equipment of course, but they were also wearing Matrian uniforms. Stern had a sneaking suspicion as to why Stafford had ordered them to change out of their Starfleet-issue body armour and into the strangely coloured (and extremely well-tailored) fatigues worn by the Matrian ground forces, but he really didn't have time to dwell on the reason.  
"Power up the transporter jammers," Stern ordered.  
Marsden tapped a control on his padd. The network of devices scattered around the building and the surrounding area came to life, looking for all the world like electronic umbrellas. In theory, they would prevent the Qu'Eh from beaming anybody down (or up). In practice, they were fragile and could be taken out fairly easily once the Qu'Eh troops walked from an unshielded area into this one.  
"Too bad we couldn't blanket the whole city with these things," Rengs mused, looking out at the towering buildings of Matronus. They were dark, most citizens having either gathered in underground basements, transit systems or the huge, empty cavern that had held the hundreds of thousands of suspended animation pods used by the women during the reconstruction of the planet. (Similar caverns had been found under other cities, through the actual control systems and Dream Nexus were in Matronus.)  
"Too bad we couldn't blanket the whole planet with these things," Stern sighed.

In space, the last Matrian cruiser sparked with energy and started to drift. Carefully aimed shots from a Qu'Eh cruiser had disabled her engines, leaving the ship largely intact, but powerless. A few scattered star fighters continued to harass the Qu'Eh ships, but without the constant bombardment from the larger Matrian ships the Qu'Eh could afford to simply ignore the relatively tiny weapons impacts. Damaged Matrian and Senousian ships drifted, moving apart as they each fell into their own orbits. The Qu'Eh fleet approached even closer to Matria Prime, the scattered shots from the remaining defence satellites barely making a dent in their shields. Only one defending ship was still returning fire.

"Target the lead ship!" Jall shouted, "Transfer all possible power to weapons!"  
The ship shook again as several Qu'Eh ships fired.  
"Shields are down to 10%!" Bith reported. Wowryk had abandoned the first officer's chair to try to treat the bloody gash on Bith's forehead, but the tactical officer just wouldn't hold still, "There's too many of them!"  
"Engineering to bridge!" Sage's voice came over the comm.  
"What?" Jall snapped, one hand gripping the armrest while the other tried to put his hair back into some semblance of order.  
"The Matrian reactors are down! All this shaking around has totally wrecked their innards!"  
"I'm only getting auxiliary power to weapons!" Bith confirmed. The lighting flickered out, plunging the bridge into darkness before the dim emergency lights flickered on.  
"I've got fluctuations in the structural integrity fields!" Day cried out.  
"The Qu'Eh are targeting us again!" Quintaine called out from sciences.  
The ship shook again, even worse then before. Sparks flew from several consoles, the large schematic of Silverado on the aft wall blowing completely out and peppering Wowryk and Bith with debris.  
"Shields are down!" Bith reported, "Weapons are offline!"  
"Everybody, ready your weapons!" Jall ordered, his hand going immediately to the phaser strapped to one hip.

"That's it then," Stafford said softly, watching as Silverado's icon flickered, then started to drift. Every Starfleet officer in the room watched the tiny hologram for several seconds, until beeping consoles or Matrian  
"That's it," Verethi confirmed.  
The stood in front of the display, watching the Qu'Eh ships move closer towards the planet. The remaining satellites, barely a dozen, were still firing. As they watched, the Qu'Eh picked one off.  
"Initiate defensive sequence Omega-A," Verethi ordered.  
The Matrian tech working next to Naketh tapped a few buttons.  
"That ought to keep their sensors scrambled for a while," Naketh reported.  
The Qu'Eh fleet soared past Silverado, the Federation ship drifting aimlessly. He hull was scorched with weapons fire; her engines were dark. The remaining satellites, the only thing left between the Qu'Eh and the planet, abruptly exploded. Behind the Qu'Eh fleet, three heavy Qu'Eh troop transports had just dropped out of warp. The lightly armed ships had been judged too fragile to send into the battle zone.  
At least until there was no resistance to meet them.

"The Matrian fleet has been defeated, Chairman,"  
"Oh, excellent!" Chairman P'tareck said pleasantly, clapping his hands together, "I promise you all, this will feature very prominently in your performance reviews at the end of this fiscal quarter!"  
"Thank you, Chairman," one of his underlings bowed.  
"Have we identified our assault points on the planet?"  
"We have, Chairman," the other reported, "But the auto-destruction of the defensive satellites has released a lot of radiation. We're having trouble with our sensors. It shouldn't block our transporters, however."  
"Oh, excellent!" P'tareck repeated, "Order the transports to send boarding parties to the disabled ships, then to commence ground assault,"  
He grinned.  
"I don't know what the Matrians hope to hide with that little stunt," he said, "But I doubt it matters."

Stafford sank into one of the chairs facing the holo-display. The Qu'Eh troop transports were clearly visible, although the sensor readings were now somewhat scrambled from the radiation dumped into space by the exploding satellites.  
"HUMILIATING DEFEAT!" The table declared in its loud, basso voice. Stafford gave the thing a half-hearted kick.  
That was it. Their space defences had failed. They had some ground troops, true. The Matrians could try to resist. But Stafford had a very strong feeling that if they resisted too strongly, the Qu'Eh would simply open fire on one of their cities from orbit, slaughtering millions. Without control of the space around the planet (or really powerful shields defending the cities), the battle was lost.  
He'd failed. Rather spectacularly too.  
He took off the Matrian medallion of office he'd been wearing over his uniform since being declared Minister of Planetary Defence by Queen Anselia. He held it in one hand, looking down at it. The solid silver medallion, showing the flat disc of Matrian Prime along with a strange, star-shaped symbol, was heavy in his hand, mirroring the heavy lead-like feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd lost battles before in his career, although he'd been able to retreat from those. For a starship captain, being defeated meant a jump into warp speed, a crash into a planet, or at worst the lives of a few hundred Starfleet officers. A horrible thought, but at least those people had chosen the risks of a life in space. Here, millions of innocent civilians were about to be conquered by a hostile race.  
He set the medallion down on the table.  
"For what it's worth," Admiral Verethi said, standing next to him, "I think we did the best we could,"  
"Did we?" Stafford asked. He looked around the War Room, at the Matrians and Starfleet personnel who had worked there, almost without sleep or rest, for the duration of the battle. Yanick and Burke were nodding, as he'd expect. The surprise however, was the Matrians. He'd expected looks of hostility, of accusation. The sense that he'd failed them, that he'd f**ked up royally and that the fate of their world was HIS FAULT.  
But the looks they were giving him were almost…friendly? That wasn't quite the word for it, Stafford realised. But there was a sense in the room that hadn't been there when he'd first arrived. Then, they'd been strangers. Most of the Matrian technicians and officers had barely known each other, never mind the Starfleet personnel. But they'd seen now, first hand, that Stafford and his crew were dedicated to defending their planet, even though they'd been enemies only a few short years ago. The sense of camaraderie in the room wasn't strong…but it was definitely there.  
And the battle wasn't quite over yet. Yes, they'd been defeated in space and were going to be defeated on the ground. But Stafford still had an ace or two up his sleeve.  
"Start our evacuation plans," he ordered, "We need to get Queen Anselia, King Hektor and as much of your government as we can into the underground installation. We've been trying to get civilians out there, but with millions of people in the cities, we've only been able to take a fraction of them. Federation reinforcements will be coming, eventually. And since your leaders are the ones most likely to be, um, mistreated, we need to keep them safe in the meantime."  
"I'm sure Governess Laurette will be pleased to have them out of the way," Verethi mused.  
One of the technicians started relaying the orders.  
"Are you certain," Verethi went on, "that Federation reinforcements are coming? Because I will be frank: If you or the Federation are playing some sort of stupid political game with us, now is the time to admit it,"  
She crossed her arms, looking severely at Stafford.  
"I may have been wrong about you," she admitted, "You appear to have our best interests at heart. But if your government is not willing to back you…"  
"I have confirmation," Stafford said, standing, "A fleet of ships was rendezvousing at Waystation as of yesterday morning. It's going to take them weeks to get all the way out here, but they're coming. I promise you."  
Verethi looked deep into his eyes. Finally, she nodded.  
"I believe you," she said. She snapped her fingers. Several burly Matrian soldiers, all female, entered the room. Breaking into pairs, they each marched straight for a Starfleet officer.  
"If you'll come with us, Minister," one said, gripping his arm.  
"What the hell?" Stafford snapped.  
"Queen Anselia gave us special orders concerning you," Verethi said, a small grin on her face, "She figured you'd probably object to what she had in mind, so she authorized us to make sure we had sufficient…force, to ensure you didn't resist,"  
Stafford stared at her in shock. The soldiers started pulling him towards the door. Not far from him, Yanick and Burke were being subjected to similar treatment.  
"You didn't realize that the Qu'Eh would be very, very interested in getting their hands on the commanding Starfleet officer here, did you?" Verethi asked sweetly.  
She pulled out a weapon, aimed it at him, and fired. Everything went blank.

"Intruder alert!" Bith shouted, "I have multiple beam-ins on all decks!"  
The Qu'Eh troops transports had just passed by Silverado, on their way to the planet. As they did, they started beaming troops aboard. Several pink transporter beams flashed into existence on the bridge, coalescing into the forms of armed Qu'Eh soldiers. Jall and Bith immediately fired, stunning the invading troops, but more immediately beamed in.  
"I'm picking up thousands of life-signs on those transports!" Quintaine shouted, taking a moment to punch out the Qu'Eh next to him, "There's no way we can repel them all!"  
Jall remembered his orders, the last line in Stafford's message.  
'You know what you're going to have to do.'  
Well, that was that. Whining, bargaining or offers of sexual favours weren't going to get him out of this one now.  
"Computer!" he called, "Initiate auto-destruct sequence, authorization Jall 764-Photo-Umbrella! 5 minutes, silent countdown!"  
He looked around the bridge for a moment.  
"Sorry folks," he shrugged.  
"Auto-destruct systems are offline," the computer reported.  
"Uh-oh," Jall muttered.  
"We don't have a warp core," Day reported, "And the secondary explosives in place in case of a warp core failure aren't responding!"  
"We can't let the Qu'Eh have this ship!" Jall snapped, "We can't let Starfleet technology fall into enemy hands!"  
"I've lost contact with decks 21 to 36," Bith reported, "They're overrunning us!"  
"We can't let the Qu'Eh have this ship in working order," Day said, sounding almost thoughtful.  
He and Jall stared at each other for a moment.  
"Ohhh!" Jall clapped his hands almost giddily before shoving Day away from the operations panel and going to work.  
"What are you doing?" Quintaine demanded.  
"A buddy of mine on Deep Space Nine told me about this little trick they pulled," Jall said, quickly adjusting the systems that were still working, "We just need to keep the Qu'Eh off the bridge long enough for me to implement it!"

"We've got beam-ins!" Marsden reported, "I'm getting reports of Qu'Eh troops beaming down less than a kilometre from here!"  
"We just need to hold them off long enough for the VIPs to escape," Stern said. Behind him, another loaded shuttle was taking off from the roof of the council building, "Although I think it would have been smarter to evacuate them BEFORE the aliens invaded the planet!"  
Simmons had taken the micro-binoculars from Stern and was scanning the city ahead of them.  
"I see them!" he reported, "They're coming up Dignity Way!"  
"Good call," Stern muttered. Dignity Way was the main avenue leading into the government section of town. The numerous fountains and flower/plant boxes made for great cover. They also made for some great hiding places for stun grenades and the like.  
"Wait for it," Stern said, noticing that Simmons' hand was already going for the detonator controls, "Let them get further in,"  
"But if they find the grenades…"  
"If they find some, we'll set them off before they can find them all!"  
"Matrian HQ to Stern,"  
"Stern here,"  
"This is Admiral Verethi. Queen Anselia and King Hektor have safely left the area. We're starting to evacuate council members, be we need you to buy us time!"  
"That's the plan," Stern replied, "Where's Captain Stafford?"  
"Minister Stafford is being taken care of," Verethi replied, "I've taken command of our remaining forces, as was planned,"  
"Oh yeah," Stern nodded, even though Verethi couldn't see him, "We'll hold this line as long as we can."  
"Excellent. Your actions will not go unremembered. Verethi out."  
"Can I blow them up now?" Simmons asked, a slightly crazed look on his face as he fondled the detonator controls for the planted stun grenades.  
"Not yet," Stern said.  
"Can I blow them up now?" Simmons asked, less than thirty seconds later.  
"Not yet!"  
"Oh," Simmons looked sadly down at the ground, "When I can blow them up?" he mumbled.  
"Standby to set off the first string….now!"  
Giggling like a hyena, Simmons pressed a button. Out in the street there was a series of bright flashes as half a dozen grenades went off. The Qu'Eh troops, having already partially passed that position, suddenly found themselves split into two groups; one still in the clear, the other between the detonated grenades and the Matrian council building. Before Stern could give the order, Simmons laughed gleefully and punched the rest of the detonation buttons. With another series of flashes, the closer group of Qu'Eh troops dropped to the ground.  
"Got 'em!" Simmons cried, throwing his arms up with glee. The detonator flew out of his hand, bouncing off an annoyed Dar'ugal before dropping to the ground.  
"Idiot!" Stern snapped, slapping Simmons upside the head, "You were supposed to wait until the rest of them got closer in!"  
"But the first group would be shooting at us by then!" Simmons whined.  
"That's why we have these, you moron!" Stern said, pointing at the portable shields. The remaining Qu'Eh troops, seeing that their companions were merely stunned, were now rushing up the avenue. Within minutes they'd reached the first of the Matrian defensive emplacements. Stern and the HT watched as the front line Matrian troops started firing at the approaching aliens.  
"So either way, we end up with a group shooting at us," Simmons shrugged.  
"If we'd still had the grenades, we could have taken out more of them!" Stern shouted, "You are SO in for it, Simmons!"  
"Yeah, whatever. That's what you said the last time I blew something up."  
"Maybe you guys wanna pick up those phaser rifles and actually shoot at somebody?" Rengs asked. The Bajoran was leaning out from the shield and carefully aiming his phaser rifle.  
"Right, right,"  
There was a roar of engines overhead as another shuttle took off from the roof of the council building. It flew off into the distance. Moments later, a Qu'Eh fighter flew by. It almost looked to Stern like it was going to chase after the shuttle, but it banked around and came back for another pass over the government building. There was a flash of weapons fire then puffs of smoke as several of the transporter jammers exploded. A fresh group of Qu'Eh troops immediately began materializing in the now un-shielded area.  
"Simmons!" Stern cried.  
"Yup?"  
"Go blow stuff up!" Stern shouted.  
"Aye sir!" Simmons saluted, then grabbed his bag of explosives. Darting behind cover, he quickly started making his way towards the new group.  
"Rengs, Kreklor, go cover him!" Stern ordered.  
"Joy," Rengs grunted.

"I've re-established partial shields over the bridge," Day reported from the engineering console, "But they're not going to stay up for long!"  
"Just keep those Qu'Eh buggers off my back for another five minutes!" Jall ordered, his hands still dancing over the console. It had been months since he'd done operations-type stuff like this, but it was mostly coming back to him. He wasn't entirely sure if he was programming the impulse reactors to generate an overload, or to simply explode. An explosion might cripple the ship beyond repair, but the impulse reactors didn't have the oomph to destroy the whole thing. But he was pretty sure he was programming stuff right.  
Mostly sure.  
There was a banging sound from the hatch covering the Jefferies tube next to the turbolift. A Qu'Eh boarding party was trying to force its way onto the bridge. The banging abruptly stopped, then there was the sound of weapons fire.  
"Two more minutes!" Jall cried, "I don't like working under pressure!"  
"So we can die when the Qu'Eh kill us, or when Jall destroys the ship," Wowryk said, crossing her arms.  
"At least you're finally going to get to meet God in person," Jall shot back.  
"Oh, you're right!" Wowryk exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "Who wants Last Rites?"  
Pye shyly started to raise his hand before Jall reached over and slapped it down.  
"I'm not destroying the ship," Jall snapped. He tapped one last command into the panel.  
There was a crash as the Jefferies tube hatch exploded out into the bridge.  
"Hold your fire," Jall ordered. In the background, a low hum was slowly beginning to rise. The Qu'Eh troops pushed their way onto the bridge, their weapons pointed at the Starfleet officers. Jall slowly raised his hands, nodding at the others to follow suit. One of the Qu'Eh muttered something into a communications device. In the background the low hum was growing in both pitch and intensity. Jall was silently counting the time in his head.  
A moment later, a single Qu'Eh climbed out of the Jefferies tube and onto the bridge. He was roughly humanoid but most of his features were obscured by the body armour and helmet he wore. He stepped out of the turbolift alcove and onto the bridge proper, looking around at the flickering panels, the shattered display at the back of the bridge and at the Starfleet officers standing next to their stations, hands raised. With a flourish he pulled off his helmet, revealing a pale, humanoid face. His hair was grey and was pulled back from a sharp widow's peak. His right ear was a strange twist of cartilage, almost like a starfish doing the hokey-pokey. His left ear was obscured by a strange sort of headset. The earpiece appeared to be fused with his ear, right into the skull. A ridge ran along the left side of his face where the implant ran under his skin, right down to the side of his mouth. Here, a small microphone emerged from a puckered opening in his flesh.  
"I am Manager Kalmers of the Qu'Eh vessel Synergy," he declared.  
Ten seconds, Jall mentally counted. The hum was becoming a squeal.  
"I'm Commander San Jall of the Federation starship Silverado," he said, bracing himself.  
There was a cascade of sparks as the overload building in the ship's impulse reactors was released directly into the ships systems. Sparks flew from the bridge panels, from the lights and even from the main viewscreen. The right wing of the forward helm/ops console exploding completely, singing Day's uniform.  
All over the ship panels blew out, systems shorted and components melted into slag. In both the primary and secondary computer cores, bank after bank of isolinear chips shattered, processing nodes sparked and bio-neural gel-packs ruptured, the gel boiling as energy surged through it.  
The lights on the bridge failed, the sound of the air-circulation systems died and the artificial gravity shut down. Jall found himself drifting, weightless, next to the remains of the helm console. The Qu'Eh commander, his face barely visible in the dim light coming from the small fires burning in the broken panels, was staring at Jall with a combination of fury and shock.  
"Welcome aboard," Jall finished smugly.

"Fall back!" Stern was shouting into his comm-badge, "Repeat, all Matrian forces fall back!"  
The Qu'Eh were closing in on the Matrian council building. Stern and the HT had already fallen back to the main entrance. The Qu'Eh were closing in relentlessly, stunning Matrian defenders and beaming them up to their ships.  
"I think I've figured out why the Captain told us to wear Matrian uniforms," Rengs shouted, lobbing a stun grenade across the street. He, Simmons and Kreklor had returned after about 10 minutes worth of playing 'kick the grenade' with the newly arrived group of Qu'Eh soldiers. They'd been chased off quickly, but not before they'd managed to stun about 40 troops.  
"It's so that when we get captured, they don't realize we're Starfleet," Stern said grimly, "I know. I figured that out a while ago,"  
"You really think the Captain thought we were going to be captured?" Marsden asked, firing his weapon at the oncoming aliens..  
"Considering we've been outnumbered and outgunned for this entire battle?" Stern shouted back, "I think he was planning ahead,"  
A fresh wave of Qu'Eh burst out of the park. The HT suddenly found themselves facing nearly 50 weapon barrels.  
Stern dropped his weapon, then slowly stood; hands over his head.  
"I think it was a good idea," Simmons gulped.

Chairman P'tarek strode into the Matrian Grand Council building; soldiers and members of his personal bodyguard forming a barrier between himself and the very angry-looking Matrians lining the corridors. He was somewhat impressed by the Matrian seat of government. The workmanship of the wood paneling was excellent, the architecture was nice and stonework on the exterior and interior was exquisite. Of course, it couldn't match the cool efficiency of the glass and steel construction the Qu'Eh used, but the Matrians would learn. Oh yes, they would learn.  
A tall, dark haired woman was striding down the corridor towards him. She wore an interestingly tight outfit, which seemed to be comprised largely of…leather? He didn't remember seeing that on the screen when he was threatening the Matrian council earlier.  
"I'm Mistress Laurette," she declared harshly, "I'm the leader of the Matrian people. What do you want?"  
P'tarek turned his head to one side, listening carefully as his Executive Assistant murmured into his ear.  
"I'm sorry," he said, "But I was under the impression that when we started our hostile takeover of your corporate world-space, Queen Anselia was your CEO."  
"I did a little hostile take-over of my own," Laurette said, giving a small grin, "Or didn't you know? I ruled the Matrian people for decades before the Reawakening. It was only after that that I was relegated to Leader of the Opposition,"  
P'tarek listened again.  
"I see," he smiled pleasantly, "Then perhaps you'd care to discuss just how exactly you'll be fitting into our organization?"  
"I'd like nothing better,"  
"Just one thing," P'tarek raised a hand, "Where is Queen Anselia? King Hektor? Minister of Defence Stafford? The esteemed Dr. Wowryk?"  
"Most of them were in Defence HQ," Laurette shrugged, looking bored, "If they're not there, then they probably found some hole to scurry under. As for this Wowryk person, she's just a lowly peon. Why should I know?"  
"Mistress Laurette," P'tarek said, lowering his voice and leaning in closer, "You really do need to answer all of our questions to the best of your abilities. To do any less would not make good business sense,"  
A small light on the strange headset implant P'tarek wore began blinking. He cocked his head slightly, as though listening to a voice only he could hear. (Which was, after all, the whole point of a headset, right?) He smiled.  
"As it turns out, the good doctor has been located," he said, "Though it sounds like she and her colleagues did an overly effective job of ruining that fine ship of theirs,"  
He clapped his hands together and smiled brightly.  
"But enough of that, my dear. Let's go and discuss Matria Prime's place in the great Qu'Eh organization!"

Stafford awoke with one hell of a headache.  
He cracked open one eye and found himself lying on what seemed to be the floor of a Matrian shuttle. What the heck was he doing there? Oh, that's right. Admiral Verethi had stunned him, saying something about 'plans' Anselia had for him. What were they doing, turning him over to the Qu'Eh? Did they think that offering up a Starfleet officer to the enemy was really going to help them?  
Suddenly, the further ramifications of Anselia's betrayal came rushing to mind. If she told the Qu'Eh about the underground installation, then all the people, all the supplies, everything he'd had hidden there would be in jeapordy!  
There was a loud THUNK as the shuttle touched down. Feigning unconsciousness, Stafford let his eye close.  
The hatch hissed open, letting voices spill in.  
"-give much of a fight?"  
"No ma'am, Admiral Verethi stunned him before he even knew what was happening,"  
"Really, we don't think that was necessary! We are sure he would have come quietly, once he understood the situation!"  
Stafford recognized that voice (and its obnoxious pluralities) any day. It was Anselia!  
"What should we do with him?"  
"Just put him over there until he wakes up,"  
"I am awake, you traitorous bitch!" Stafford snapped, suddenly launching himself to his feet. He wasn't quite fast enough, suddenly finding himself held back, restrained from rushing at Anselia.  
"Traitorous?" Anselia asked calmly.  
"Verethi told me you were gonna turn me over to the Qu'Eh!" Stafford snapped, "I can't believe you'd…hey…." he looked around, "Why are Ensign Kennerdy and Lt. Commander Valtaic holding me back? Where I am?"  
"It is a pleasure to see you again, sir," Valtaic said politely.  
"It'll be a pleasure once you've had a shower," Stafford said, wrinkling his nose, "how long have you been away from the ship, anyway?"  
"You are in the underground installation," Queen Anselia, cutting off Valtaic's chance at a come-back, "Where you sent us, your non-essential crew, most of our senior government personnel and as many of our civilians as you could. And, we might add, where you yourself showed little interest in going,"  
"Yeah, but…" Stafford trailed off, looking around. He was indeed in a huge hanger, matching the description Jeffery had given him, "But Verethi said something about the Qu'Eh being very interested in getting their hands on me. And some orders you had given…"  
"Yes," Anselia nodded, "We had ordered her to ensure that you were brought here, so the Qu'Eh would not get their hands on you,"  
"Wha…" Stafford trailed off again. Kennerdy and Valtaic released their grip on him, leaving him free to walk to the end of the railing that surrounded their particular platform.  
For the most part, the hanger was the way Jeffery had described it. It was huge, with several platforms extending from the walls almost to the center of the bay, forming a series of strange, staggered half-decks. The lighting was subdued, of the bluish/reddish varied and there was a control booth clinging to one of the upper bulkheads. The huge hanger door was closed against the desert outside, with a pair of smaller airlock doors on either side, way down on the lowest level.  
What was different was that the bay was no longer empty.  
Matrian shuttles, transports and even a few scout and patrol ships crowded several of the landing platforms. Both of Silverado's runabouts, along with several of her shuttles, crowded another. Both runabouts had visible battle-damage, which was being ignored as Starfleet and Matrian crewmen unloaded supplies from their cargo holds. The transport enhancers that had been setup on the lower level had been packed away and the last load of supplies beamed down before the battle started were slowly being moved to one wall, where several crates had already been stacked. Matrians, Silverado crew members and even a few Senousians were milling around in a combination of confusion and organized chaos.  
After the first attack, and with Fifebee reporting that the installation was almost entirely deserted, Stafford and Anselia had quickly realized the potential use of such a facility. With only a handful of government personnel aware of its existence, a powerful jamming field in place and plenty of free space, it was the perfect bunker. That may or may not have been its original purpose, but that wasn't particularly relevant now. Stafford had immediately ordered Silverado to beam down as many supplies as humanly possible, while Anselia had insisted that the non-essential Silverado crew members and civilians that had been hiding in one of Matronus's sports arena be relocated immediately. Stafford had suggested more of a focus on Matrian civilians, but Anselia had pointed out that the common people had far less to fear from an invading force that governors, governesses and Starfleet personnel. With transporters and shuttles running right until the battle began, there had still been time to evacuate a number of Matrian civilians. Also, the scanner-scattering effect of the radiation released by the self-destruction of the defence satellites had allowed the defending forces to continue to send shuttles to the installation without being detected by the Qu'Eh.  
"Why the hell did she stun me, then?" he demanded.  
"Well, she really doesn't like you very much," Anselia shrugged.  
Stafford let out a relieved breath.  
"Everything is going according to plan then, huh?" he asked.  
"Except for the fact that our planet has been conquered, yes," Anselia said, her voice turning slightly frosty.  
"And the fact that we have a 200 year-old nude Matrian running around the inner complex, a hologram imprinted with Sylvia's personality and only three unlocked washrooms located so far in this facility," Valtiac added.  
"There's a fleet on the way," Stafford said, patting Anselia's arm reassuringly, "A month, six weeks at the most, and we'll give these Qu'Eh bastards the ass-kicking they deserve,"

"Sir, we've received a transmission from the Matrian Sector relay," Captain Brown reported as Admiral Edward Tunney stepped into the operations complex of Starbase 45,"  
"Admiral on the bridge!" one of the junior officers called out, despite the fact that there really was no bridge on the starbase.  
Tunney gave the man a very dirty look.  
"Let me guess," Tunney said to Brown, "The Qu'Eh have conquered the planet, Silverado's either crippled or destroyed, most of our people are missing in action and some former bad-guy on the planet is now working with the Qu'Eh to help them cement their control?  
Brown looked blankly at Tunney.  
"Shit," Tunney groaned, "That was my worst-case scenario. I was hoping the real situation would cheer me up. What's the status of the relief fleet?"  
"The Vendome, the Elfman, the Stallion, the Montreal and the Champlain have all rendezvoused at Waystation," another officer reported, "They'll be departing in 6 hours,"  
"A Constellation-class, a Proxima-class, a Constitution-class and two Excelsior-class ships," Tunney grimaced, "All of them Operation Salvage vessels." He paced for a few minutes, then turned to Brown.  
"Order those ships to sit tight," he said, "None of them leave for Matrian Space until I give the order,"  
Brown and his first officer exchanged a worried glance.  
"And when will that be, sir?"  
"When I convince Fleet Admiral Ra'al to send more ships," Tunney said, turning back to the turbolife, "Or not at all,"

End of Season 4.

Well folks, that wraps up the fourth season of Star Traks: Silverado. At the time this was originally posted, I had no clue how this was going to wrap up. Originally, I wanted to do three 'books' (double-length stories) to close up the Matrian/Qu'Eh storyline. I wrote the first two, and found that I just wasn't getting much closer to the conclusion. So that plan was dropped and the completed books were re-worked into the first part of Season 5. I will be posted Season 5 here at some point.


End file.
